Breaking With Tradition
by Edward Carson
Summary: The romance of Christmas 1924, focusing on what follows Mr. Carson's enchanting proposal. This is a narrative of the 48 hours after the proposal, with reactions to the news by almost everyone, with emphasis on Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes themselves. Disclaimer: Mr. Fellowes created them, Mr. Carter and Ms. Logan gave them life. I am only borrowing them for a little while.
1. Chapter 1: After the Proposal

**A Moment Together**

" _Of course, I'll marry you, you old booby! I thought you'd never ask!"_

He was going to cry. He certainly felt the tears welling up in his eyes and had not the slightest inclination to attempt to stem them by drawing on his considerable reserves of self-control. This was not a moment for restraint. Let the tears flow. They would convey with more eloquence than words ever could how profoundly grateful he was to her and how very much he adored her.

Undemonstrative by nature, Mrs. Hughes was mesmerized by the raw emotion on Mr. Carson's face. She could speak her love, though words seemed wholly inadequate in this instant. But she could never express herself so vividly with only her eyes. How much she loved him! She tightened her grip on his arm and did not blink lest she miss one second of this rapture.

Remarkably, they still held their glasses of punch.

"Well!" Mrs. Hughes declared, raising her glass. "To us."

Mr. Carson smiled weakly and echoed her gesture, the crystal ringing as they each took a sip of the punch. Neither could recall anything else ever tasting so sweet.

There was a heightened sense of anticipation in the air around them. Mr. Carson's intense gaze became, if anything, more acute. And then he spoke.

"May I kiss you, Mrs. Hughes?"

Mrs. Hughes reached for Mr. Carson's glass, took it from him, and turned to put them both down on his desk. She did so a little hastily, the punch in one of them sloshing onto the desktop. Well, they could clean that up later. And then she was facing him again, moving right up to him, if not exactly into his arms. It seemed that Mr. Carson did not really know where to put his arms. But as she reached up toward him, he lowered his head to hers and in the next moment their lips met.

It was an exquisite pleasure for them both.

"Just so you know," Mrs. Hughes said a moment later, a little of her usual matter-of-fact tone emerging to dim the breathlessness she felt, "you don't have to ask for permission to kiss me. Not ever."

Mr. Carson's serious demeanour did not fade. "I think," he intoned in a grave manner, "that if men asked for permission more often, there would be fewer misunderstandings in the world."

She smiled at his deliberate thought processes. No one could accuse Mr. Carson of acting precipitously. "Well, I agree with you there," she admitted. "But all the same, you've asked now. You needn't do so again."

As though in agreement with this principle, he leaned over her again and pressed his lips to hers, bringing his arms round her as he did so, tentatively at first and then a little more firmly. Already his confidence was improving.

There was nothing more to say just then. It was clear that neither wanted to go anywhere, but both knew they must return to the celebrations, if only to give themselves time to digest what had just passed between them. The corridor and staircase were as empty on their ascent as they had been earlier when they'd come down, blessedly so, for they were then able to hold each other's hand until they reached the green baize door.

Mrs. Hughes felt quite overwhelmed. He had bought the house for _them_! He loved her more than she _ever_ could have imagined. And Mr. Carson, the most professional butler in all of England, and Downton's foremost advocate of _the way things always have been_ , had thrown tradition to the wind and asked her to marry him! Although she was a champion at concealing her inner thoughts, she was certain that the moment they stepped back into the great hall everyone would know. With her heart thumping so loudly and her nerves all aflutter, she would betray their understanding without uttering a word. She could not remember ever having felt so completely out of control. She hardly dared look at Mr. Carson who wore his heart so overtly on his sleeve in the least of things. If she were an open book, he would be a "War-Is-Over" newspaper headline in six-inch type.

But Mr. Carson defied these expectations. As he reached out to open the door that would usher them back into the sparkling world of a Downton Christmas Eve bash, he felt an extraordinary calm settle over him. He had been agonizing for weeks over what he would say and how he would say it. He had practiced endlessly, supplied her responses across a whole spectrum of possibilities, and formulated counter-arguments until everything had sounded clichéd and foolish and hopelessly inadequate. At this moment he couldn't even remember what he'd actually said. But it didn't matter any more, for she had said _Yes_! - or, rather, some convincing variation of it - and from that moment he had been consumed with such relief and _joy_ that he might have accepted the gravest of calamities - a dictatorship of Labour, the disappearance of the footmen from service, or a wine market restricted to New World vintages - with equanimity. Nothing else mattered.

He pressed his hand flat against the door.

"Might we manage a few minutes together at the end of the evening?" he murmured, leaning over to speak quietly into her ear.

His soft breath on her cheek, sweetened with the aroma of the punch they had sipped, was intoxicating. And the promise of a reprise of those enchanting moments below stairs made her heart skip a beat. "We might," she said lightly, in a tone that belied her excitement. "Let me know when."

 **At The End of the Evening**

They were the last of the staff to retire.

"Mrs. Hughes. Might I have a word about the morning's schedule?" To the untutored ear, Mr. Carson sounded as he always did, his voice betraying with only the subtlest of inflections the exhilaration that lay beneath the words.

Mrs. Hughes was attuned to this frequency and smiled.

Mrs. Patmore was not and did not. She rolled her eyes at the man insisting on a conference about place settings or linen service at this hour of the night. "We'll all be up again in another hour or two," she said grumpily. When neither of the other two moved, she sighed. "I'll say goodnight, then," she said to Mrs. Hughes. "Don't let him keep nattering on about silly things," she added, with an exasperated glance at Mr. Carson.

"I won't," Mrs. Hughes said pertly.

"Happy Christmas!" Mrs. Patmore declared and then she was off down the corridor.

Mr. Carson closed the door behind her and then turned to face Mrs. Hughes. In the same moment they moved together, their lips meeting in a gentle kiss. This small intimacy came easily to them which surprised them both and at the same time did not surprise them at all.

"I'll speak to His Lordship in the morning," Mr. Carson intoned solemnly, drawing back.

Mrs. Hughes could not contain a mirthful yelp, which prompted Mr. Carson to frown, reflecting in equal parts indignation and apprehension.

"What's the matter? His Lordship's views have a very material bearing on our future."

She waved away his concerns. "It's just the way you said it. It put me in mind of a young man asking a woman's father for her hand." It was silly. She didn't even know why she told him.

Mr. Carson was shaking his head. "I don't need His Lordship's permission to marry you," he responded. "But his reaction is pertinent to when we ... marry." The idea of marriage - _she had said yes_! - was still a joyful novelty to him, and he paused to smile over it.

Often given to contrary views, Mrs. Hughes tossed her head now. "But it's not really. I'm going to marry you, Mr. Carson, no matter what the Crawleys think about it, and on our own schedule, not theirs." She'd waited a long time for this man and this moment, for him both to acknowledge and express his feelings and to translate them into a proposal. But with this great hurdle overcome, she assumed an equal voice in their future. She looked at him with a bold expression, daring him to say differently.

But Mr. Carson was of no mind to cross her. "Of course," he agreed easily. "I never meant otherwise, Mrs. Hughes. But it is still necessary to speak to him, out of courtesy, if nothing else."

Well, she couldn't disagree with that. "But why this morning? Couldn't we bask in the moment just a little while by ourselves?" She spoke a little wistfully. She had never in her life had such a wonderful secret. She wanted to examine it privately, to take it apart and cherish it in all its lovely aspects, before it became common property.

Mr. Carson closed his great hands over hers and for a long moment his gaze fixed on their hands entwined together. When he looked up at her again it was with an eagerness to please. "It shall be as you wish," he said. But he bit back additional words and his eyes fell to their hands again.

"Tell me," she said encouragingly. "I want to know what you think, too."

This evoked a small smile, but when his eyes came up to hers they were filled once more with the emotion that had gripped him earlier, in the wake of her acceptance, and his mouth had an almost grim aspect about it. "I have denied, and suppressed, and muted my feelings ... my feelings for you... for a very long time, possibly even longer than I realize myself. Having given voice to them tonight, and found them so gratifyingly reciprocated...," - she thought perhaps that the tears might actually spill onto his cheeks, "... I am this moment happier than I have ever been in my life, and I have no desire to contain that joy any longer than I absolutely must. Can you possibly understand that, Mrs. Hughes?"

Almost nothing was more endearing to her than the way he was able to combine their longtime professional, if perfunctory, formality with the expression of his deepest feelings. And she gave way completely to his point of view. "Of course, I understand," she said, gripping his hands tightly to convey her support. "I would not have you wait. I'm not sure His Lordship's going to be in a right state to hear the news _tomorrow_ , though," she added cautiously. Lord Grantham had been having a high time of it all evening and would no doubt be regretting his liberties on the morrow.

"I'll see to that," Mr. Carson said firmly, and with these words a measure of his conventional composure reasserted itself.

"Then may I make another suggestion? I think it would be better if you and I together spoke to both His Lordship _and_ Her Ladyship. I believe the circumstances warrant it."

He nodded quickly and agreeably. "You're right, Mrs. Hughes. I shall speak to His Lordship as early as possible and arrange a time when we can all meet together."

She smiled again, pleased with his easy compliance.

A comfortable silence enveloped them as they stood together, their hands still linked, not really wanting this interlude - this Christmas Eve that had been so magical for them - to end.

"I think we sho..."

"Perhaps it's time to..."

Their words ran together and they broke off at the same time and laughed. And then they moved together and shared a final kiss. Without another word they walked to the junction of the staircases where they had to part.

"Sweet dreams, Mr. Carson," Mrs. Hughes said as she reluctantly released his hand.

"No dream can match the sweet reality of this night, Mrs. Hughes," he assured her.


	2. Chapter 2: The Next Morning

**First Thing**

He was waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs, something he had never done before. As soon as her eyes fell on him, Mrs. Hughes knew everything would be all right. Everything had changed between them, and yet it was all so reassuringly the same. There he was, immaculately attired as usual, all creased and starched and imposing. His hands were clasped behind his back, his shoulders squared, and his head lifted just a little that he might catch a glimpse of her as soon as she rounded the bend in the stairs. He might have been waiting on royalty, so professionally dispassionate was his bearing. But his eyes gave him away. They were alive with the joy her answer had lit in them the night before and they were a sight to behold.

 _My, but he is handsome_! she thought to herself as she descended the last few steps. She was relieved that the internal jangling of nerves that she had been unable to stifle when they had returned to the Christmas celebrations last evening did not return. That kind of excitement was exhilarating, and she had relished every minute of it, but one couldn't pursue a normal day's activities feeling like that. Nor would it be as special as it was if it were an everyday occurrence.

"Good morning, Mr. Carson," she said, and her voice sounded normal enough to her. She did favour him with a warm smile. It was the least she could do. She was so glad to see him.

"Happy Christmas, Mrs. Hughes," he responded, bowing slightly. His dark eyes were fixed on her, conveying to her by the most effective means at his disposal that every sentiment he had expressed the previous evening remained intact. "Did you sleep well?" he asked, as they turned slowly down the corridor in the direction of the kitchen. His query was polite and conventional, but there was an undertone of meaning there that did not escape Mrs. Hughes.

"Well enough," she said airily. "Eventually." And she gave him a mischievous glance. "And you?"

"Not a bit," he admitted, and a knowing smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "I'm afraid I shall be asleep in their soup tonight," he added, almost as an aside.

Mrs. Hughes's jaw went slightly slack and she stared at him. Mr. Carson, whose world, as he had once noted, rose and fell on the style of a dinner, had just blithely confessed the possibility - no the likelihood - that he would not be performing at his best on a formal occasion, and he did not seem at all perturbed. Although this surprised her, at the same time a slightly different apprehension came over her, one awakened within her by their changed relationship.

"You can't go on like that today. There's too much to do." She might have said the same thing to him a week ago, but now her words and her feelings had more claim on him. His well-being had become their shared responsibility.

He allowed himself to smile at her concern and then dismissed it with a casual gesture. "Mr. Barrow can manage things this afternoon for a few hours while I get caught up. Nothing to worry about, Mrs. Hughes."

"I'm not sure Mr. Barrow will be so obliging," she said, only somewhat mollified.

"He will be," Mr. Carson said lightly. "I've given him the morning off. I thought it best that I deal with His Lordship myself. For a number of reasons," he added, with a meaningful look.

Mrs. Hughes nodded, but she was distracted by what he had said about the under-butler.

"You spoke to Mr. Barrow last night?" She was more than a little impressed with Mr. Carson's presence of mind. Last night she had been so disoriented that she'd been lying on top of the bedclothes for half an hour before she'd realized why she was cold. And she hadn't given a thought to anything about Christmas day other than the anticipated conversation with the Granthams and seeing Mr. Carson again.

"Oh, no," Mr. Carson said, intruding on her thoughts. "I spoke to him before I came down this morning."

"At...?"

He squinted as he gave the matter some thought. "About five o'clock, I think. I told him he could have a bit of a lie-in this morning. As a little Christmas present." He said this as if he had done Mr. Barrow a great favour and was pleased with his own generosity.

"And he was grateful?" Mrs. Hughes could only imagine Mr. Barrow's reaction to being dragged from the last hour of a short night's slumber to be told that he could go back to sleep. But Mr. Carson was oblivious to this perspective. "What about Mr. Barrow's duties?" she asked. She didn't want to press him, but there were practical matters to consider here.

"Mr. Bates will attend His Lordship this afternoon and Mr. Barrow will see to the butler's duties," Mr. Carson explained.

"And when did you speak to Mr. Bates?" A vision of Mr. Carson also pounding on the door of the Bateses' cottage in the early morning darkness was more than unsettling, especially after Mr. Bates's dramatic reappearance during the Christmas Eve festivities.

"I sent a hallboy over with a message just before you came down. The Bateses were already astir and sent word that they would not be joining us for breakfast. Anna will be here in time to assume her morning duties and Mr. Bates will have an hour or two to get himself reestablished."

Mrs. Hughes was taken aback at all this activity. "You've been very efficient, Mr. Carson."

This brought him to an abrupt halt outside the kitchen door. "I've been running a great house for thirty years, Mrs. Hughes," he said with an almost patronizing tone. "I think I can stage manage an announcement," he added more softly, glancing about cautiously as he did so.

They stepped into the kitchen and almost collided with Mrs. Patmore who was in full-blown ogre mode, as was her wont on high days and holy days when the staff was cutting loose a little and she still had several major meals to prepare.

"You're not back again!" she cried sharply, as her eyes fell on Mr. Carson. She rounded on Mrs. Hughes. "He's been under my feet for an hour already!

"I was getting a tonic for His Lordship!" Mr. Carson retorted indignantly, his manner changing abruptly from that on display in his conversation with the housekeeper.

Mrs. Hughes surmised from this exchange that it was not the first conflict of the day between the other two. "Mr. Carson knows you're very busy, Mrs. Patmore," she said soothingly, taking Mr. Carson's elbow and gently steering him out of the kitchen once more. She jerked her chin in the direction of his office and with a slight grimace he obliged her and moved off. "Good morning, Mrs. Patmore," she said pleasantly, in an attempt to smooth over the damage. "And Happy Christmas."

"It'll be a Happy Christmas for some, I imagine, but the eggs'll probably be cold!"

The cook's scolding ran off Mrs. Hughes like water off a duck's back. Mrs. Patmore's moods were as predictable as the rising and setting of the sun. But her next words caught Mrs. Hughes up short.

"What announcement is he talking about then?" Mrs. Patmore might have the entire royal family waiting on her for their next meal, but would not let that stop her from exploiting an opportunity to gather the news.

In a supreme display of self-control, Mrs. Hughes managed not to roll her eyes. Mrs. Patmore, she knew, had the eyes and ears of a wild creature. Not even the slightest ripple in Downton Abbey's social fabric escaped her notice. She did not always draw the correct conclusions, but she almost always knew when something was amiss.

"You must ask Mr. Carson," Mrs. Hughes responded briskly, knowing that this would put Mrs. Patmore off, at least in the short run. "Now, you'll have to excuse me. I've got maids to supervise." She beat a quick retreat to prevent further discussion.

 **Breakfast**

Breakfast was more relaxed than Mrs. Hughes had anticipated. With Mr. Barrow mercifully absent and the Bateses also not in attendance, there were fewer eyes to notice any differences between them. Mr. Carson caused her a few moments of dismay. When he strode into the servants' hall, prompting the usual scraping of chairs and leaping to feet that deference to his authority demanded, he waved them all to their seats with cheery good wishes for a Happy Christmas. Despite their earlier _contretemps_ , he complimented Mrs. Patmore on every food item, and while he often remarked on his satisfaction with a meal, his attentiveness in this instance drew a somewhat subdued response from Mrs. Patmore, who peered at him suspiciously. And when the hallboys became uncharacteristically rambunctious at the far end of the table, it was Mrs. Hughes who called them to order. And then Mr. Carson softened the blow by reminding her that it was Christmas morning, after all, and boys would be boys.

Observing this last exchange, Daisy, who had been on her way out of the hall bearing an empty platter, paused by Mrs. Patmore, who was on her way in with more eggs.

"I thought Mr. Carson didn't like high spirits at breakfast," Daisy noted, puzzled.

"He doesn't," Mrs. Patmore agreed and as she spoke she caught Mrs. Hughes's eye.

This exchange momentarily caused Mrs. Hughes some discomfort about the fact that Mr. Carson's knee had been pressed against hers for the duration of the meal. Apart from this new intimacy, he had given few other direct hints of the changed nature of their relationship. Mrs. Hughes admired his discretion, especially now that she had seen the extent of his emotional range. It made it much easier for her to keep her own counsel. And as she was beginning to focus more on the anticipated conversation with the Granthams, she was grateful to avoid distraction.

Mr. Carson was not unmoved either by the new world into which he had embarked with Mrs. Hughes the evening before or her physical proximity to him as he ate Mrs. Patmore's delicious Christmas morning repast. His outward serenity was only a reflection of a more complete inner peace. For weeks past he had been preoccupied, anxious, perhaps even occasionally irritable, because he had been living in uncertainty. Resolving that uncertainty had brought him to tears the night before with the poignancy of the moment and the sudden release of long-guarded deep feelings. His heart was still filled with passion for the woman who sat next to him, but he was able to present a calm face to the world now because those feelings had been so completely validated. She had steadied him, and the challenges of Christmas day at Downton - whether the conventional ones of managing the day's usual tasks or preparing for a formal meal, or the prospect of discussing an unprecedented proposal with the Granthams - had no effect on his composure. Nor was he moved to fawn on Mrs. Hughes as a result of their communion. He knew exactly where he stood with her now, and it was precisely where he wanted to be. So he might glance at her every minute or so and remind her with his eyes of his love for her, but nothing else was either necessary or appropriate in that moment. And he thought she was pressing her knee against his.

After breakfast, he disappeared promptly, taking with him some medicaments to address what he assumed would be a raging hangover in Lord Grantham. And after that he had to attend the family in the dining room, so it was just short of nine-thirty before Mrs. Hughes found him in the kitchen, testing Mrs. Patmore's patience again.

"What's going on here?" Mrs. Hughes asked, taking in the disturbingly similar expressions of aggravation on their faces.

"He's getting in my way again!" Mrs. Patmore fumed.

"I'm doing my job, if you don't mind!" he fired right back at her.

"Could you do it somewhere else?"

"I was just going!" Clutching a bottle, a glass, and an assortment of other items in his hands, he turned abruptly on Mrs. Hughes. "Might I see you for a moment?" he asked, in a tone that was almost uncivil.

She followed him to his office, anxiety growing within her. He must have had a conversation with Lord Grantham by now and this turn of temper on his part could only mean it had not gone satisfactorily. Mrs. Hughes was not at all surprised. Had she not anticipated ill humour on His Lordship's part as a result of his indulgence on Christmas Eve? She closed the door behind her as Mr. Carson deposited his burden on his desk. Mrs. Hughes took a deep breath and prepared for the worst.

But when Mr. Carson turned to her, he was transformed. It was the first time they had been alone all morning. A warm smile traversed his face and he came right up to her, stopping only inches away. His eyes were sparkling with the exuberance she had first seen there in this very office the night before. "We're to meet with His Lordship and Her Ladyship in Her Ladyship's sitting room at ten o'clock."

She smiled in a distracted sort of way, but could not move so abruptly from the previous exchange to this one, nor register his sudden shift in mood. Frowning, she nodded in the direction of the door. "What was all that about?"

He made an inarticulate sound of impatience and rolled his eyes in an exaggerated way. "I needed some things to make up a tonic for His Lordship. Mrs. Patmore objected to my presence," he added with a note of sarcasm.

"His Lordship is still...under the weather, then?" Mrs. Hughes asked discreetly.

"Oh, no. He's much better, thanks to my ministrations this morning." There was a note of pride in Mr. Carson's voice. "I've had some experience in dealing with a gentlemen's... indisposition, Mrs. Hughes. Although," he added, "not much in recent years."

Despite herself, Mrs. Hughes had to smile at him. His eager countenance and smouldering eyes told her that the feelings he had unveiled so recently were as lively as ever. But she managed to draw her attention back to the matter at hand. "Why the sitting room?"

"The children are in the library and while His Lordship is feeling much better, he will welcome a break from the...high spirits around the Christmas tree."

That sounded right. "And you've no reservations about speaking to him...both of them...this morning."

"None at all, Mrs. Hughes. All is well."

"It's not all well down here, Mr. Carson," she responded, and once again nodded toward the door. "I'm going to tell Mrs. Patmore," she said. "Before everyone else."

A shocked look descended on his face. "Not before Lord Grantham!"

"No, _not_ before Lord Grantham!" she said with an exasperated huff. It was not news to her, of course, that he should cling, even in this, to the conventions of rank and deference to which he had been wedded for so long. "I mean _after_ that and before we tell everyone else. It's only right."

He was immediately restored to calm. "Agreed."

"And the rest of them at our luncheon, then? Anna and Mr. Bates will have joined us by then."

"And Mr. Barrow."

"Yes, and Mr. Barrow, although whether he's there not is not of much consequence for us."

"Again, agreed." They neither of them had any great fondness for Mr. Barrow. "And you don't want to wait a few days to make a general announcement?" He was trying to accommodate the desire she had expressed the evening before to savour their secret.

Mrs. Hughes shook her head. "Policing a secret is more trouble than it's worth. And it's unfair to ask His Lordship and Her Ladyship to keep it to themselves."

"And we know Mrs. Patmore can't keep a secret," he said drily, an allusion to that time when he had extracted from her information about Mrs. Hughes's medical tests.

"That's not fair," she said, a little reproachfully. "You tricked her."

"Well," Mr. Carson said, moving on, "if I may take your leave, Mrs. Hughes, I must prepare the tonic for His Lordship and take it up to him. Then I'll come back down and we can go together to Her Ladyship's sitting room."

"Why not bring it up when we go?" she suggested. "Save yourself a trip."

Her words prompted a sudden shift in Mr. Carson's demeanour. His eager light-spiritedness faded to a more serious countenance. "When I speak to His Lordship about our intention to marry," he said gravely, his eyes fixed on hers, "I will address him as a man, not as a servant."

He continued to astonish her with the magnitude of his love. Not ordinarily given to impulsiveness, Mrs. Hughes reached up quickly to kiss him, her hand coming up to caress his cheek as she did so. She felt his shoulders tense even as he responded to her kiss, and she thought she knew why. Reluctantly withdrawing from him, she was not at all surprised to see a look of mingled shock and alarm on his face.

"Anyone could walk in on us!" he hissed, his gaze darting to the door behind her and then to the second one closer to his desk.

Mrs. Hughes only smiled at him. She knew his apprehensions arose entirely from his lifelong devotion to propriety. He might have a romantic heart, this man, but he was still the stuffy butler she had known for a quarter of a century, and she loved him for that as much as anything else.

"Go see to His Lordship," she said, ignoring his anxiety. "Come for me when you're ready to go up."

 **Anticipation**

"I hope you're not going to be disappointed," Mrs. Hughes said, as they made their way down the corridor to Her Ladyship's sitting room. "They may not approve."

Mrs. Hughes did not care one way or the other. Her preference was that they both go on working at Downton Abbey for some time yet. She liked her job well enough and she was too practical ever to throw off gainful employment for an as-yet-untested future. But if either Lord or Lady Grantham objected to their senior staff members marrying, then she was prepared to shake the dust of the Abbey off her feet and change completely the direction of her life. It would be different for Mr. Carson. He loved the place and the family in a way she had never completely understood. Mrs. Hughes knew that Mr. Carson would walk away from the Crawleys and Downton Abbey rather than surrender his intention to marry her. Had he been at all ambivalent about the choice, he would not have proposed. But their disapproval would hurt him all the same.

"Mrs. Hughes." Her words had brought him to a halt and he gazed at her with a slightly impatient look on his face. "I know His Lordship."

Then he stepped forward and opened the door.


	3. Chapter 3: Telling the Granthams

**Breaking The News**

Mrs. Hughes was often in Her Ladyship's sitting room, as this was where she and Lady Grantham reviewed the weekly schedule and consulted on the running of the household. But she had rarely been in here with Mr. Carson. In fact, she could only recall doing so once, after he had caught her dispensing food to the unfortunate Ethel Parks and had insisted that she inform Her Ladyship about it. Mrs. Hughes had been quite annoyed with him about this, and even more so by his self-righteous attitude, although she had grudgingly supposed him to be right. Better to suppress that memory for the moment.

Lady Grantham was sitting at her writing desk by the window, but she was turned around in her chair that she might face her visitors. Lord Grantham stood in a more sheltered spot by the wall that he might avoid the bright mid-morning sunshine cascading through the glass. However under the weather he might be, he was nevertheless unfailingly courteous, moving out of the shadows as they entered.

"Carson, Mrs. Hughes, come in." His voice was its usual hearty timbre, demonstrating either Mr. Carson's skill with restoratives of His Lordship's internal fortitude.

"Happy Christmas, Mrs Hughes," Lady Grantham called out immediately, her cheerful smile offering a warm welcome. She had already issued greetings of the day to Mr. Carson at breakfast.

"And to you, my lady," Mrs. Hughes responded politely, as she and Mr. Carson came to a halt before their employers.

It was an odd thing. Mrs. Hughes had suggested to Mr. Carson that the announcement of their engagement was something that concerned the four of them, the women as much as the men, and that, therefore, both she and Lady Grantham ought to be involved. But when it came down to it and they were all here facing each other, she was suddenly aware of a distinct dynamic in the room that made her presence and that of Her Ladyship seem superfluous. There was something about the men. Mr. Carson stood right beside her, perhaps even slightly more closely than he had ever done, but his attention was on Lord Grantham. And His Lordship, shaking off his slight malaise, came to stand slightly off centre in front of Mr. Carson and gazed alertly at him to the exclusion of all else. Mrs. Hughes found herself holding her breath as she waited for one of them to speak.

The novelty of the occasion had not escaped either of the Crawleys. Lady Grantham knew how rare it was to have the two senior staff members in this room, and both she and her husband realized that a Christmas morning conference meant something important. Though neither knew the reason for it, Lady Grantham had an imagination, not to mention a depth of sensitivity not widely appreciated by her immediate family, and was alive with anticipation. None of this could be said of Lord Grantham, especially _this_ morning, and yet he sensed something...not _wrong_ , but definitely _something_ about Carson.

His Lordship also knew that there were forms to follow.

"You asked to see Her Ladyship and myself this morning," he said pleasantly. Lord Grantham was polite, encouraging, and neutral. He had some small foreboding of what might be forthcoming, but it was his role to suppress his emotional reaction to the news, whatever that news might be, and address the reality of it. He nodded toward Mrs. Hughes in an inclusive sort of way, but the conversation had become even more acutely a matter between the two men.

"Yes, my lord," Mr. Carson responded with gravity, staring steadily into His Lordship's guarded eyes. And then, without further preamble, he said, "Mrs. Hughes and I want to inform you that we are engaged to be married."

The drama of the moment had mesmerized Mrs. Hughes but her immediate response to these words was a gentle smile. Mr. Carson had issued this announcement calmly and clearly and firmly. There was no faltering, no hesitation, no inarticulate agonies such as had accompanied his suggestion that they purchase a property together or, last night, his proposal of marriage. Nor was there any sense of submission. Mr. Carson was telling His Lordship what he and Mrs. Hughes were intending to do; he was not asking him for permission to do it. He was, as he had put it to Mrs. Hughes the night before, extending a courtesy. And yet his respect for Lord Grantham remained intact. In this singular moment they were both simply men.

Though Mrs. Hughes was not as attentive to it, Lord Grantham's reaction was as complex as Mr. Carson's initiative, even though it unfolded in split seconds. This was not the announcement he had expected, and a wave of relief washed over him. It was followed immediately by a breaker of astonishment that hardly had time to subside before yet another wave, this time of elation, crashed over it. For the briefest moment he seemed frozen in time as he digested the newst. And then the fixed neutrality of his countenance softened and he rapidly closed the gap between himself and Mr. Carson.

"My dear fellow," he said, his simple words rich with emotion, and in an unprecedented gesture, he extended his hand.

Mr. Carson hesitated for a fraction of a second. Another complex negotiation of long-held expectations and behaviours was quickly calculated and resolved, and then he took Lord Grantham's hand for the first time in their long acquaintance. It was a breach of convention that came much more easily to the lord than to his butler. Lord Grantham smiled and his smile broadened as he grasped Mr. Carson's hand and brought his other hand up to strengthen his grip. Mr. Carson was slightly less demonstrative, but to one who knew him well, as Mrs. Hughes did, his pleasure was apparent in the glistening sparkle in his eyes. He was deeply touched by His Lordship's enthusiasm, but he was not at all surprised by it.

Lady Grantham's reaction was much less complicated. Over many years she had assimilated the manners and behaviours of the British aristocracy into which she had married, but she remained intuitively and resolutely an American at heart. Some occasions demanded an emotional response and she was uniquely equipped to rise to them. At Mr. Carson's words, she uttered a delighted cry and leaped nimbly to her feet. Crossing the floor, she seized Mrs. Hughes' hands in her own.

"I am so _thrilled_ for you, Mrs. Hughes!" she said, and anyone doubting her words would only have had to look to her face which was aglow with her delight. There was an infectious joy in those bright eyes, wide with the glow of a child's pleasure on a Christmas morning. "This is just wonderful!"

And it _was_ wonderful. Mrs. Hughes experienced an unaccustomed wave of giddiness in the face of Her Ladyship's enthusiasm. Her usual defenses against such emotional heights had been weakened by the previous evening's exhilaration. But habits die hard and with a deep breath, she was able to rein in this surge. When she said, "Thank you, my lady," her voice was its usual calm self. Turning then to Lord Grantham helped.

His Lordship's offer of his hand to Mr. Carson had been an extraordinary departure from general practice and an expression of regard for the man that he could not otherwise make explicit. When Lord Grantham then extended the same courtesy to her, Mrs. Hughes knew that that was exactly what it was - a courtesy. It was the hallmark of gentility to behave in a manner that suggested no difference in rank even when such distinctions were obvious. Mrs. Hughes saw the gesture for the formality it was and thought it appropriate. She had a cordial working relationship with Lord Grantham and nothing more. She thanked him for his congratulations and he released her hand.

Lady Grantham knew better than to express her glee to Carson in any way that involved physical contact, however limited. Although it went against her nature, she settled for what she was able to communicate through her own expressive eyes, her tightly clasped hands, and the usual sentiments expressed in the usual words.

Mr. Carson bowed his head slightly in acknowledgment and favoured Lady Grantham with the warm smile he had not given her husband. The relationship between butler and lady mirrored that between housekeeper and lord. He liked and respected Her Ladyship, but there was no emotional bond between them. He was particularly appreciative for her emotional restraint in this instance, knowing that this was something of an effort on her part. It was the American in her. If asked, Mr. Carson would have explained with reference to the American Revolution. It took a great deal of emotional energy to fuel a rebellion against duly constituted authority and it was quite impossible to get that all back in the box afterward. The revolution had left an indelible impress of exuberance on the American national character. Her Ladyship could not be expected to surmount that.

And now that they had gotten that out of the way, it was possible to step back and reestablish more conventional lines of interaction.

"When did this happen?" Lord Grantham asked, with genuine interest. It could not be said that the details of the lives of every one of his servants would have elicited his attention, but Mr. Carson existed in a category all his own at Downton Abbey.

"Last night," Mrs. Hughes responded, feeling that the somewhat mystical communion between the two men had passed and that she and Her Ladyship might now participate in the conversation.

Lady Grantham sighed. "Christmas Eve! That is _so_ romantic!" It was an observation that seriously discomfited the two Englishmen, but met with indulgent approval by Mrs. Hughes. It _had_ been romantic, English sensibilities be damned.

"And I am sorry to have intruded upon your time _this_ morning with the news, my lord," Mr. Carson said. "Mrs. Hughes more considerately suggested we wait a few days, but I was the impatient one. I didn't want to wait at all."

"I'm on your side there, Carson," His Lordship said with a grin.

"And have you made any plans yet? Thought about dates or where you'll live?" Lady Grantham asked eagerly.

They were the natural questions and yet a somewhat uncomfortable silence descended as the issue implicit in them was suddenly among them. Lord Grantham's face went blank. The unease he had felt at the beginning of the conversation returned. Even Lady Grantham noticed the change in atmosphere. Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes exchanged glances, she slightly apprehensive, he calm.

"We've not given any thought at all to dates, my lady," Mrs. Hughes said mildly, trying to restore normality to the conversation.

"As for where we will live," Mr. Carson said slowly, "that is entirely up to you and His Lordship, my lady." And once again the dynamic shifted, as he answered the question Lady Grantham had asked, but looked for a response to Robert Crawley.

The silence lasted only seconds, but in that moment the two men stared at each other again and once more Lord Grantham suddenly relaxed as he realized the import of Mr. Carson's words.

"Then...this is not an announcement of your retirement," he concluded. His voice remained in neutral, seeking confirmation before letting himself believe.

"We would very much like to continue our employment at Downton after our marriage, my lord," Mrs. Hughes said dispassionately. Her outward calm belied a light current of concern. She was not convinced of the Granthams' capacity for discarding tradition.

"I know that such an accommodation would be highly irregular my lord," Mr. Carson began. "But..."

"That it is irregular does not in itself make it unwelcome, Carson," Lord Grantham said reassuringly. He glanced at his wife, received her assent in an eager nod, and then focused once more on Mr. Carson. "You and I are not men who embrace change lightly. That you have done so is convincing proof, were I not already thoroughly persuaded, of the rightness of this marriage. Frankly, Carson, of all the changes we have confronted since the war, _this_ is by far the easiest to bear. And," now he nodded to Mrs. Hughes, "the most welcome." He grinned at his wife. "I like to be a trendsetter."

"In _some_ things," Lady Grantham amended, almost under her breath. Then she turned her attention to Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes again. "Of course, we'd like you to remain with us for as long as you want to do so. How would we ever manage otherwise?"

The atmosphere lightened considerably and Mr. Carson opened his mouth to draw this episode to a close. He enjoyed the Granthams' _bonhomie_ and the freedom that announcing the news had brought him, but there was still a great deal of work to conclude before noon.

But Lord Grantham spoke first. "I can't help it, Carson. As pleased as I am at your announcement, the fact is mostly what I am is astonished."

"You and me both," Mrs. Hughes commented drily. And then, catching each other's eye, she and Lord Grantham burst into cheery laughter. In truth, they were both more than a little relieved and turning to humour let them express it.

Lady Grantham was prepared to join them, but then her eyes lit on Mr. Carson who was looking at the other two with a slightly disgruntled expression on his face. "Now, really, you two, quit that," she said, attempting to restore dignity to the proceedings. "You're upsetting Carson."

Lord Grantham and Mrs. Hughes both reined in their amusement and tried to affect a more serious manner.

"Well, we can't have that," he said, his eyes still twinkling.

"No, we can't," Mrs. Hughes agreed, with mock gravity.

Lord Grantham grasped for a distraction. "May we tell the rest of the family at luncheon?" His gaze shifted from Mrs. Hughes to Mr. Carson. "It's good news to announce on an already very happy day."

"We had intended to tell the staff at our Christmas lunch, my lord," Mrs. Hughes responded, drawing his attention again. "So, if you'd like to tell the family, by all means do so."

Mr. Carson made a small sound in his throat and they all looked to him. "If I might, my lord, I would prefer to speak to Lady Mary myself."

The other three shared discreet glances of understanding, and Lord Grantham nodded soberly. "Of course you would," he said agreeably. "I shall tell her at the first opportunity that you'd like to see her."

"Very good, my lord. And now, if we may, we have work to do in preparation for the luncheons."

"Yes, of course. We'll work out the details for new arrangements at your leisure, Carson, Mrs. Hughes. And please," Lord Grantham added, as they made ready to leave, "be assured of our greatest good wishes. We are..." he glanced again at his wife, "both of us, very happy for you."

Nodding their appreciation, the two moved away, Mr. Carson ushering Mrs. Hughes through the door and closing it behind them.

 **The Granthams Recover**

As the door clicked into place, Robert pivoted on one heel and swung in a long slow arc to face his wife. His eyes wide in amazement, he took two steps across the floor and then flung himself onto the sofa, stretching his arms out across the back of the frame, his collapse a physical sign of what he would have described as shock.

"Great God in heaven!" he declared, and then he grinned.

Cora mirrored his good humour. "What wonderful news with which to begin our Christmas celebrations!" she said sweetly.

"It's the end of a world," Robert announced. "The revolution that began in 1914 and brought so many changes to our lives is finally complete. Carson. Getting married. The world of my youth is gone forever now. That was the door closing on it."

Cora was still smiling, but she looked at him with a little uncertainty. "But you are happy for them, aren't you, Robert? You meant what you said about them staying on? All of it?"

An almost pained look descended on his face. "Of course I did!" he said swiftly, and straightened up as he spoke, as if to give substance to his words. "Carson has been in charge of Downton longer than I have, Cora. We have managed the estate together for almost thirty years. Frankly, I can't imagine the place without him."

Cora gave him a knowing look.

He nodded. "I do know it's possible, my darling. And I accept that it may even be coming and that I'll probably be able to cope when it does. But," he grinned, "it's not happening _yet_!" He threw himself back into the pillows again as Cora took a seat across from him at her desk. "I am absolutely delighted," he said firmly, and then his grin faded just a little. But I am also just ... astonished. Carson. I'd never have thought it possible of him, that's all."

"Why so bowled over about Carson? What about Mrs. Hughes?"

"Oh, Mrs. Hughes is a much more modern individual and there isn't quite the same...personal connection there. This house, this family, they've been Carson's life, quite as much as they have been mine. He takes as much pride in, and bears almost as much responsibility for, the maintenance of Downton as I do. Downton has been a vocation for him. And... " Robert suddenly adopted an expression of disbelief, "and...I've just never given him credit for having that depth of personal feeling, I suppose." It was a rueful admission.

"Except toward Mary," Cora said. "I think it's so sweet that he wants to tell her himself."

"Sweet, perhaps. But not at all unexpected," Robert responded, leaning back into the sofa once more. As he pondered the idea of Mary and Carson, words he had heard the previous night drifted into his mind. "'I love the way he loves her,'" he recited.

"What?"

Robert turned his gaze on his wife. "It's something Tom said to me last night, about Sybbie. I was bemoaning his determination to take her with him to Boston..."

"Robert..."

"I know, I know. And Tom said 'I love the way you love her.' But it's true, for me, of Carson and Mary. He's always cared for her, looked out for her. Of course, his work has been exemplary in every way, but...that tie between them has made him something more. One _must_ like a man who loves your daughter as much as he does."

"I hope she'll be happy for him," Cora said, again a note of uncertainty in her voice.

"Of course she will," Robert said confidently. "Mary is as fond of Carson as he is of her. And it won't diminish their relationship in any way."

"You'd better go tell her he wants to see her," Cora urged him. "She should hear about it this morning, before they tell anyone else."

But Robert did not rise from the sofa. Instead, he cast an appealing look at his wife. "Would you mind doing that, my darling? Carson worked a miracle this morning with those tonics, but I'm still feeling just a little unsteady. And the children..." He stared at her with his eyes wide in supplication.

Cora made a stern face at him. "I hope that teaches you to drink in moderation, _if_ indeed you drink at all." But she stood up and headed for the door. "Don't stay away _all_ morning, Robert. It is our last Christmas with Sybbie, for a while anyway."

That brought Robert to his feet. "You are so right. I shouldn't squander the opportunity." He linked her arm through his and they headed for the door. "He jolly well better ask me to be his best man."

"Oh, Robert."

 **The Next Hurdle**

As they moved across the great hall to the green baize door, Mrs. Hughes sighed with relief and favoured the man beside her with a warm smile. "Well, that went very well."

He nodded, still quite serious in his demeanour. "It did, although I did not for a moment believe it would be otherwise."

His confidence had been uncompromising. Mrs. Hughes just shook her head. Mr. Carson's faith in the absolute loyalty of the Crawleys was quite beyond her, even with the evidence of its validity in plain view. "I suppose Lady Mary is next," she said. She smiled at the idea of Mr. Carson wanting to tell his favourite girl his news. She glanced up at him in time to see an anxious look cross his face. "You're not worried about _her_ reaction, are you?" She was astonished. How he could be so unshakably confident in His Lordship and then doubt his darling Lady Mary?

"No!" he said, almost sharply. "No, of course not. I'm...not at all worried about Lady Mary." But it was clear that he was.

Mrs. Hughes might have made any number of comments, but decided to let sleeping dogs lie. As he opened the door to the servants' stairs, she said, "And now you're shaking hands with gentlemen, Mr. Carson. That's because you're marrying up when you marry a Scot."

He looked at her and saw the glint of laughter in her lively blue eyes. "You tease me a lot," he said guardedly, not certain whether he was amused or vexed by this tendency.

"Well," she said, sweeping by him and then pausing to glance over her shoulder with a mischievous look on her face, "better get used to it."

His eyes followed her as she made her way down the staircase. "I think I'm going to enjoy that," he murmured.

She had diverted him from his anxiety with her mischief and he was grateful. In that moment of loving contemplation of the woman who brought such joy to his heart, he lifted his head to take a deep breath and he realized that he was not alone. Poised on the upper part of the stairway that led to the servants' quarters two flights above was Mr. Barrow. He had, no doubt, been on his way to work, fresh from his Christmas morning lie-in, and come innocently on this slightly compromising exchange between the senior staff members. Barrow stood there unmoving, having hoped perhaps to have eluded awareness of his presence. He would have succeeded had Mr. Carson not lingered on the landing, lost in a reverie about his future with Mrs. Hughes.

Several seconds ticked by as they stared at each other in silence. Mr. Barrow decided it was for Mr. Carson to resolve this quandary and concentrated on keeping his expression impassive and unprovocative. Mr. Carson took the time to consider his response. His exchange with Mrs. Hughes had been intimate in a way, but innocuous enough. They had not touched, even in passing. And even Mr. Barrow could not discern from what they had said the specific context for their banter in their decision to marry. And it really didn't matter what he made of it, for they were to announce their intentions imminently. So when it came right down to it, a confrontation with Barrow was not worth the effort. Shaking his head as if to rid himself of an annoying insect, Mr. Carson turned away without saying a word and went downstairs.

Mr. Barrow breathed a sigh of relief as the moment of tension dissipated. He was capable of holding his own with Mr. Carson, but he liked to pick his battles. He descended the staircase at a leisurely pace, giving consideration to what he had heard through the open green baize door. So there was to be a wedding at Downton. It wasn't the one he would have predicted, but it was one that he could turn to his advantage. Butlers and housekeepers did not marry. As he contemplated the implications of that fact, Mr. Barrow grinned to himself. Mr. Carson had given him _two_ Christmas presents today.


	4. Chapter 4: From One Extreme to Another

**The Extremes**

Though he did not engage the under-butler on the stairs, Mr. Carson did not think he could ignore the incident entirely. Fortunately, as he turned into the downstairs corridor Mrs. Hughes was emerging from her sitting room with a sheaf of papers in her hand. She had resumed her official manner so completely that Mr. Carson could have believed that the conversations upstairs had never taken place.

"Mrs. Hughes."

She stopped and waited for him, looking as though she expected a query about the service they were going to use for upstairs luncheon.

Believing Barrow to be hard on his heels, he wasted no time. "Mr. Barrow was on the stairs," he said in a quiet voice, glancing about apprehensively lest they be overheard again. He did not need to spell out his concern, but he did raise his eyebrows in a silent question.

Her brow creased thoughtfully but she did not look unduly alarmed. "What did you say to him?"

"Nothing. What should I have said?"

"Nothing. Leave him to me."

"Gladly." Mr. Carson did not shirk unpleasant responsibilities as a rule, but in this case he welcomed the release. "I've got wine to attend to," he said, and then slipped into his own office and closed the door.

Mrs. Hughes had been on her way to snare Mrs. Patmore for a brief private conversation, but anticipating Barrow, she remained in the corridor outside her sitting room, examining the menu for the family's Christmas meal.

Barrow's progress down the final staircase had been rather deliberate as he mulled over what he had heard. When he turned into the corridor at the bottom of the stairs his gaze fell on Mrs. Hughes standing there for no apparent reason. He did not know if Mr. Carson had said anything to her, so he carried on as if not, nodding politely and not slackening his pace. He turned sideways as though it might ease his way by the housekeeper, but she put her hand out to stop him.

"Mr. Barrow."

"Good morning, Mrs. Hughes," he said in a clipped tone, hoping to give her the impression that he had important things to do. "If you will excuse me, I've got..."

She ignored him. "In here, please, Mr. Barrow." She pointed to her sitting room. Her tone was a pleasant one, but Barrow knew that could change quickly. Mr. Carson's blustering indignation was much easier to deal with than the housekeeper's sharp tongue. And she was harder to put off. Flashing a brief, tight smile, he ducked into the room, as if he were obliging her with some problem.

She held her hand up to forestall any talk on his part. "Mr. Carson and I have decided to marry," she said without preamble, in her usual business-like tone. "There, now. You know the news. We would appreciate it if you kept that to yourself for a bit and let us make the announcement. But you must follow your own conscience in that." And then she opened the door and nodded toward it. "Now, you may leave."

Almost before he'd registered what she'd said, he was unceremoniously being shown the door. Barrow was not accustomed to such dispatch in delicate matters, which he enjoyed stringing out for the discomfit of those involved. But he'd been outmaneuvred here and he had some respect for her method, if not her message. He gave her an almost imperceptible nod of acknowledgment and edged toward the door.

"And by the way," she added. "We're not leaving when we do, so don't get your hopes up about a promotion. Now, be off with you."

This exchange had taken hardly a minute.

Barrow didn't have time to gather his thoughts before she was pushing past him, heading for the kitchen, her brisk pace reflecting the increasing tempo of a busy morning almost gone. He resumed a more leisurely stroll in the same direction, his buoyant spirits of only minutes ago now dampened beyond repair. In one highly efficient conversation Mrs. Hughes had confirmed the important information that had opened welcome new prospects to him and then dashed them to pieces in no uncertain terms. So much for a happy Christmas.

Mrs. Hughes took a deep breath and then stepped into the beehive of activity that was the Downton kitchen on Christmas morning. She and Mr. Carson had disrupted Mrs. Patmore quite enough this morning, but she knew this final interruption was necessary.

"Mrs. Patmore, could I have a few minutes of your time?"

"I'm in the middle of Christmas feast preparations upstairs and down!"

"It's important and it won't take long. Daisy, can you make sure the world doesn't end before Mrs. Patmore gets back?"

"Yes, Mrs. Hughes."

When Mrs. Patmore stormed over to her, Mrs. Hughes retreated into the hallway. "It _is_ important," she explained.

Once more Mrs. Hughes was in her sitting room closing out the world that she might confide her secret in yet another person. Christmas morning was _not_ the best time for this, something that had been apparent to her even in the rapture of last evening. But she had recognized the validity of Mr. Carson's feelings and that was that. Mrs. Hughes never had time for recriminations or second guessing. Spilt milk.

"Well? What is it then?" Mrs. Patmore had no time for frivolous conversation and never shrank from expressing her moods, good or bad.

But Mrs. Hughes hesitated. Standing before her was the first person to whom she would impart the news who meant something to her. Mr. Carson had cared what Lord Grantham thought because they had a relationship that transcended a mere employer-employee connection. For Mrs. Hughes, however, the audiences thus far - the Crawleys and Mr. Barrow - were official ones. She had no emotional attachment to them. It was different with Mrs. Patmore. They were friends.

They had not always been friends. Their stormy confrontations over control of the key to the store cupboard were the stuff of Downton legend. But that issue had gradually faded in importance as they had been more drawn together than pulled apart, and become friends. Mrs. Hughes was not a loner by disposition - not like Mr. Bates, for example - but had almost been made so by practice until she'd seen the merits, professionally and personally, of ending the day over a sherry with Mr. Carson or sharing a late afternoon cup of tea with Mrs. Patmore. Friendship made it imperative that Mrs. Patmore be singled out of the crowd for advance knowledge of this new stage in Mrs. Hughes's relationship with Mr. Carson. Mrs. Hughes did not think it would really surprise Mrs. Patmore, who had been making suggestive remarks about Mr. Carson's affections for months.

But you did not tell friends your exciting news in the same dispassionate way you informed your employer or confirmed the suspicions of an eavesdropper. Friends got to enter into the emotional swirl of your news, to contribute their own measure of joy to the joy you already felt. _Joy._

While these thoughts flitted through her mind, Mrs. Hughes was unaware of the effect they were having on her countenance. She had lost the neutral semblance of her work-a-day face. Thinking about the news she had to share had opened the door to the memory of that still-thrilling encounter of only hours ago.

 _You are if you think I'm asking you to marry me._ _Well?_

The words themselves were almost enough to stop her heart. And then, even more potent, his eyes vulnerable with tears, his very formal request to kiss her, the kiss itself... She was unaware of the tears filling her eyes at the thought of him, that lovely man with the great heart.

"Oh, my God!"

Mrs. Patmore's clanging exclamation brought Mrs. Hughes back to earth with a sudden jolt.

Mrs. Patmore was staring at her, open-mouthed. "He's finally done it, hasn't he? He's asked you to marry him! Finally! That's why he's been in a mood all morning. That's why he's been behaving so strangely!"

In the moment, Mrs. Patmore was triumphant. She didn't mind taking wild shots the dark, leaping to conclusions that might prove unfounded. Even in the moment she was not convinced she was right about this. It was just the first thing that came into her head. But then a radiant smile appeared on Mrs. Hughes's face and the sparkle in her eyes confirmed the truth of it even before she nodded.

"Yes," she said, with a girlish delight she had not known since...well, since she was a girl. "Yes, Mrs. Patmore. Mr. Carson has asked me to marry him and I said yes!"

Mrs. Patmore was on the verge of an emotional outburst that would involve hugging and tears and sentiments of congratulation, but Mrs. Hughes's words diverted her for a moment into reflexive sarcasm. "Well, I didn't bloody think you'd say no! He'd not be likely to work up the courage again for another half century!" With that out of her system, she threw open her arms, gathering her friend into them, her own tears pouring forth now.

"Oh, love, I'm so pleased for you! Only...," they withdrew to a half arm's length from each other, "why didn't you tell me earlier? I've been yelling at him all day, the daft man!"

This characteristic turn from Mrs. Patmore prompted Mrs. Hughes to laughter, and then Mrs. Patmore was laughing, too.

"When did you get around to it, then?" Mrs. Patmore demanded.

"Last night. During the party. We came down for a quiet moment and..."

"Was he punch drunk?" Mrs. Patmore had a hard time understanding what else could have brought Mr. Carson to the point after so many years of opportunities.

"He didn't have a drop until after he'd asked," Mrs. Hughes said promptly, and then she remembered the sweet taste of the punch on his lips and almost lost her train of thought. "He bought the house and put it in _both_ of our names. It was his intention all along with that proposal about sharing a property."

"The dear man," Mrs. Patmore said, and without a hint of irony either.

"The dear man," Mrs. Hughes echoed.

They stared at each other for a moment, both enjoying the happiness of the one.

"Now, you've got to get back to work," Mrs. Hughes said, pulling herself back to the realities of the day. "And I've got a few chores of my own to finish."

"I do," Mrs. Patmore agreed. "I'm that happy for you, though, Mrs. Hughes. I am."

"I know it. And I thank you," Mrs. Hughes said. "I just wanted you to know. We've already told His Lordship and Her Ladyship, and they'll tell the rest upstairs at lunch. We thought we'd tell our group at lunch down here."

Mrs. Patmore was hit with a pang of professional dismay. "You ought to have told me earlier," she said reproachfully. "I'd have prepared something special."

Mrs. Hughes smiled. "I'm grateful, Mrs. Patmore. But I have all I could wish for right now."

A slight shadow passed over Mrs. Patmore's face. "Happens you do," she murmured. "I'd better see to that dinner before Daisy ruins it all." She didn't mean it. Not anymore. But comments like that had become her code for getting back to work.

Mrs. Hughes nodded, understanding, and opened the door. Then she went to sit down for a moment, to catch her breath and to remember what she had to do next.

 **Mr. Carson's Indignation**

"Must I submit to being publicly mauled by Mrs. Patmore when I cannot even..." _Kiss you_. He could not even say it.

"Those are your rules, Mr. Carson," Mrs. Hughes said without sympathy. "And Mrs. Patmore is only upset that she scolded you all morning," she added kindly, with rather more regard for the cook's predicament. "What did she do to you?"

"She... _hugged_ me." He was standing there with his arms in the air, hands spread out, as if he was walking through a swamp and was trying to keep his hands clear of the muck.

"And who was in the kitchen to witness this transgression?"

"Oh... Daisy, and Andrew, and Lucille. This _isn't_ funny," he snapped, his dark eyes stormy with outrage as he saw her fighting to contain her mirth. Mr. Carson was as sensitive as Lord Grantham about casual references to personal detail, especially anything to do with bodies, and he had cringed at Mrs. Patmore's broad references to physical stimuli such as Rudolph Valentino or jazz music. He was infused with indignation when Mrs. Hughes started to laugh.

"They'll know soon enough, Mr. Carson. Your reputation won't suffer." She could hardly speak for laughing, even though she knew he was furious. This was Mr. Carson as she had known him for years. This was the man who shared a heart with that sensitive, loving soul she had seen so much of the last twenty-four hours. This was, as she knew only too well, the man she loved.

"What about _him_?" Mr. Carson demanded, trying to restore some semblance of dignity by changing the subject.

She understood whom he meant. "I told him."

"What?!"

"I thought I'd try a different approach. And it's thrown him a bit to be told bluntly like that. I wonder now if we shouldn't tell them all in twos and threes. It might be easier." She shook her head. "Well, anyway. Go on to your office, now. I've got a lot to do yet."

He issued a growl of exasperation under his breath at her casual dismissal, but he did leave. He had his own work to do. He closed the door with rather more force than he had intended and then quickly opened it again. Mrs. Hughes looked up to find him staring at her with a contrite look on his face. "Are you all right?"

"Yes," she said, smiling. "I'm having a lovely day."

 **Best Friend**

Daisy was finding it all quite unsettling. First Mr. Carson was behaving oddly. Then Mrs. Patmore appeared to be even more impatient with him than she usually was. _Then_ , only minutes ago she had walked up to him _in the kitchen_ and _hugged_ him _in front of the kitchen staff_ and, without a word of explanation to either him or them, had thrown herself back into her work. Daisy thought Mr. Carson might have a heart attack, the blood rushed to his face so quickly and his eyes grew round with a fury she had the misfortune to know directly once or twice. But instead of exploding he just left the room. Daisy gave a passing thought of sympathy to any hallboy who fell short of his duties in Mr. Carson's way in the next little while. And _now_ Mrs. Patmore was crying into the soup, dabbing her reddening eyes with her apron in one hand while she stirred the soup with a spoon in the other.

"What is it?" Daisy asked, alarmed. She was not consciously aware of the effort that went into the structure of routine that made the chaos of a working kitchen manageable until that routine was disrupted.

"Nothing," Mrs. Patmore replied, not even bothering to snap, yet another troubling sign.

Daisy was perplexed. The last time she had seen Mrs. Patmore in a state like this was in London during the Season last summer, when she - Daisy - had announced her intention to quit her job and move to the great city in order to pursue her education. When, later that evening, she had come upon Mrs. Patmore sobbing in the kitchen and asked what was the matter, the cook had admitted that it was the prospect of losing Daisy that had prompted such an emotional outpouring. But Daisy could see no equivalent crisis here.

"You look like you've lost your best friend," she said, employing that timeworn cliché for want of a more informed understanding of Mrs. Patmore's distress.

Her words elicited a small sob from Mrs. Patmore. "I might have," she said.


	5. Chapter 5: His Lady Mary

**Lady Mary's Response**

Mrs. Hughes had had her own reasons for desiring to delay making their news public, but as Mr. Carson prepared to decant a bottle of red for the upstairs luncheon he realized that his insistence on precipitous action had added substantially to the time pressures of an already full day. The fine adjustments the apparatus required seemed beyond him this morning and he wondered at his unaccustomed clumsiness. Perhaps that might have been averted had they taken a more moderate approach.

Then his eyes fell on the two empty punch glasses sitting on the corner of his desk. Such a sight would ordinarily have provoked him to make a sharp comment to Mrs. Hughes about the dereliction of duty on the part of the maids and the clear indication it gave of declining standards at Downton in the housekeeping department. But this morning the otherwise innocuous crystal transported him immediately into the memory of what had transpired here hours earlier.

 _Of course I'll marry you, you old booby! I thought you'd never ask_!

The magic of that precious memory seized his mind and for a long moment, as he stared at the glow of the flame turned red by the intervening flow of wine, he saw only her face and how it had been transformed with joy when he had asked her to marry him. And then he shook himself abruptly and refocused on the job at hand. It wasn't _when_ they were announcing their news that distracted him; it was the news itself. He would have to keep his wits about him.

Despite this revelation, his mind wandered easily again to the moment this morning when she had kissed him right over there, just behind the door. He'd reacted stupidly, overreacted really. He _would_ be glad when Christmas lunch was over and everyone knew, although he doubted that he, at least, would ever be anything but uncomfortable kissing her here in their place of work, even behind a closed door. Even behind a locked door. He wondered whether Mrs. Hughes would want to be as discreet as he. She was every ounce his equal in terms of professionalism, but she had a streak of mischief in her, too. _Concentrate on the task_! he said sharply to himself.

He had just finished the first bottle when there was a knock at his door and he looked up to find Lady Mary standing there in the half-open doorway.

"May I come in, Carson?"

Lady Mary was resplendent in a shimmering green dress that accentuated her fine figure and set off her dark eyes to great advantage. For once Carson did not notice the perfection of Lady Mary's appearance. At the sight of her, his mouth went dry and he was temporarily gripped with a wave of paralysis. She had moved into the room and closed the door behind her before he could scramble to his feet, uttering a somewhat flustered, "My lady." He had wanted to see her, had hoped to see her promptly this morning, but she had also slipped his mind.

There was nothing unusual in Lady Mary visiting the butler's pantry, though she had not come here as often in recent years as she had as a child. Then it had been her favourite play place, one filled with novel furniture like Carson's great desk, vast ledgers filled with mysterious messages written in a bold hand, and keys to cupboards crammed with treasures of silver and crystal. She had sat behind the desk in his equally great chair pretending to be the imperious butler overseeing the empire of the downstairs world. She had drawn pictures in the ledgers and, when she learned to write, had perfected her signature in the blank spaces in the current accounts book. With the silver and crystal she had held tea parties and entertained dignitaries from around the world, always played with the solemnity due to the occasion by the man who stood before her now. He had always let her use whatever pieces she wanted, regardless of their worth. There was no indulgence to childish whim she had been denied in this room. And whenever she scraped her knee, her heart, or her ego, he was always there to mend the wound with a comforting hug.

Maturity had changed the nature of their interaction, but not her reasons for seeking him out. As she grew from a child to a young woman, her need for entertainment diminished and her desire for emotional support grew. Lady Mary never lacked for admiration, approval, or applause. But Carson offered her these and something else besides. While his support was unconditional, he was not afraid to cross her, though he often did so by asking trenchant questions that called her to reflection, rather than issuing judgments. She knew that he would always deal honestly with her, not something she could count on from everyone. And he kept her confidences, remaining silent rather than betray her. And he still hugged better than anyone else. She continued to count on him. He seldom asked for anything in return for all this and Lady Mary took this imbalance for granted. All the same, when he called for her, as happened only very rarely, she came.

Observing his uncharacteristic awkwardness, Lady Mary gave him a curious but slightly uneasy smile. "His Lordship said you wanted to tell me something, Carson," she said, as he came around the desk to stand beside her. "I confess I'm a little unnerved by such a cryptic message."

Carson shook his head and waved dismissively. "It's nothing to trouble you, my lady. Nothing like that. It's only some news that I wanted to deliver to you directly." He had recovered a little of his poise, but his internal agitation remained, and he paused.

She raised her eyebrows in a silent encouragement to speak.

Carson took a deep breath. Beyond Mrs. Hughes, no one's opinion meant more to him than Lady Mary's. He wanted to tell her, but he did not know what reaction to expect. He hoped she would be happy for him. He hoped she would not find him...ridiculous. She could hardly be expected to appreciate that he could fall in love as completely as she could. The younger generation didn't have much imagination where older people were concerned. Given that he himself would have been sceptical of such a development had it not happened to him made him even more uneasy about her response. And yet...this was _his_ Lady Mary.

"I am going to be married, my lady." Although he was doubtful of the wisdom of it, sometimes there was no other rational course but to leap right in with both feet and damn the consequences.

A second ticked by, a second that lasted an eternity to him and she did not react at all.

"May I ask to whom?"

It was a simple question, devoid of any overtones at all, and it completely derailed him. How could he be so idiotic? He growled in exasperation at himself and flung out the name. "Mrs. Hughes!" Mentally he was clouting himself about the head and about to start spewing incoherent apologies and explanations, but Lady Mary's actions forestalled this. His _faux pas_ had given her a moment to collect herself, to absorb what he had said, and to give in to genuine feeling.

"Oh, Carson." She moved right up to him and put a hand on his arm. "What wonderful news!" Her eyes were fixed on his now, searching them deeply, so full of emotion that he was almost staggered by the intensity. "And you're very happy." It wasn't a question, but it was, and it drew him back to firmer ground.

He inclined his head. "I am, my lady." He said this with the conviction he felt and she recognized it, her hand tightening on his arm before she released him. She nodded a little, but there was still a hint of uncertainty in the air and, when she spoke, in her voice.

"What does this mean for Downton, Carson?"

He knew what she was asking, and knew, too, that she was really concerned about him and his future, rather than the house. "Nothing, my lady. Mrs. Hughes and I have no desire to leave Downton in the foreseeable future, and, as unconventional as it is for a butler or a housekeeper to marry - at all, let alone each other - His Lordship and Her Ladyship have assured us that they are open to accommodation in this matter."

Lady Mary's eyes widened in indignation. "I should hope so!" she declared. "At _my_ Downton, you are the butler and Mrs. Hughes is the housekeeper. And if it comes to it, Carson, I'll fight your corner. I do own half the place, you know!" she added saucily.

He smiled at her fierceness, gratified by her response, and knowing that her ferocity was both a little tongue in cheek as well as a cover for the intensity of her feelings.

"Mrs. Hughes," Lady Mary mused, shifting focus. "Well. She doesn't like me."

"That's not so, my lady. In fact, Mrs. Hughes holds you in very high regard." It wasn't a complete falsehood. Mrs. Hughes, he knew, _respected_ Lady Mary, even if she did not, in fact, like her, or so he had persuaded himself.

Lady Mary rolled her eyes at him. "You're a very bad liar, Carson. You always were. I may have to mend my ways a little if I'm ever to be invited over for tea."

His response was quick and heartfelt. "I wouldn't have you change a bit, my lady. I like you just the way you are."

She glowed in the warmth of his endorsement, as she had all her life. This allowed her to take a lighter tone. "Well, you're in a fairly exclusive club there, Carson, but that suits me. No need to worry. I shall love her because you love her. That's the way it works. But I think it may be a one-sided affair."

His enduring support for her had included an appreciation for her sense of humour, even in its feebler moments, so she noticed now when he failed to laugh at her joke. Instead, he closed his eyes for a few seconds and exhaled deeply, the rigid line of his shoulders relaxing in what she recognized as relief. He was almost shuddering with the subsiding tension.

"Did you doubt me, Carson?"

He opened his eyes and met her inquiring gaze directly. "It is only what you said to me at Lady Rose's ball, my lady. That the household was breaking up and everyone moving away. I would never want you to think that _I_ was abandoning you. I could never do that."

And that, really, was the crux of his unease. Mrs. Hughes had him right when she assumed he was prepared to leave the Crawleys' employment to marry her, even if he would prefer not to do so. But his attachment to Lady Mary transcended a mere job, or even a life-long career. He well knew she could find another butler, and had in fact been prepared to let her do so when his principles made it impossible for him to follow her to Haxby had she married Sir Richard Carlisle. But he could not live without her good opinion, her affection. Her love.

It was a novel situation for Lady Mary. Carson, who had held her hand in all the vicissitudes of her life, needed _her_ assurance, _her_ support, a boost from her to _his_ confidence. She thought carefully for a moment. She needed to strike the right balance between heart and mind, between gravity and warmth.

"You couldn't abandon me even in death, Carson. I shall be hearing your voice over my shoulder, cheering me on, boosting my confidence, and...calling me back to the right path whenever temptation leads me astray until _I'm_ in the grave. And...I know a thing or two about marriage, Carson. I know that you must attend to your spouse above all else. But I know, too, that there is still considerable room left in a heart for others. Especially for children." And she moved right up to him again and once more put her hand on his arm. Carson's aversion to physical contact as a manifestation of inappropriate familiarity had never applied to Lady Mary.

"I am _very_ happy for you, Carson, for you and Mrs. Hughes, both." Suddenly her great dark eyes were glistening with unspent tears and she leaned forward swiftly and kissed his cheek. "Such good luck!" she said.

And then, almost as if it was too much for her - and it was almost too much for him (Lady Mary had kissed him this way on a few rare occasions and each was an exquisite memory for him) - she released his arm and strode to the door. With her hand on the doorknob, however, she paused and looked back at him, her emotions a little more in control, a slightly impish expression on her face.

"Only I'm glad you're taking this step now, Carson, and not twenty years ago."

Through the blur of tears in his own eyes, he managed to say, "My lady?"

She grinned. "I've enjoyed being your favourite child," she said.

She could have left it at that, but she lingered and he knew why.

"You'll always be that, my lady," he said firmly, his sincerity undiminished by her determination to hear him say it.

With a toss of her head and a reassured smile, she left.

Behind her, Mr. Carson felt his heart swelling with pride and contentment. _Both_ of the women he loved loved him.

 **Common Ground**

Mrs. Hughes was in her sitting room, looking for the present for the new footman, Andy. When she realized earlier that it wasn't with the pile she had taken into the servants' hall, she thought it had probably slipped off on the table in her sitting room, and so it had. As her eyes lit upon it, on its side behind her clock, a flash of colour at the door drew her eye.

"My lady."

Lady Mary, her hands held before her fidgeting in an uncharacteristic display of indecision, wavered for a moment in the doorway and then slipped into the room and closed the door over. As if making up her mind, she smiled. It was her 'official' smile, Mrs. Hughes thought, not without charm, but designed wholly for effect. Mrs. Hughes had never been much impressed with Lady Mary and did not understand how she mesmerized Mr. Carson, though she accepted the reality of it. Still, she thought she knew why Lady Mary was here and felt they might as well get on with it.

"Mrs. Hughes."

Mrs. Hughes's critical appraisal of the woman before her was no secret. Lady Mary had always felt - Mr. Carson's blustering assertions to the contrary - that the housekeeper, while not exactly disapproving of her, did not quite approve of her either. It had been clear to Mary that Mrs. Hughes's favourite of the three Crawley girls had been Sybil. Fair enough. Mary did not begrudge her youngest sister this attention. Sybil had had a warm and sparkling personality, as well as a peculiar ease with every member of the household staff. It was natural, rather than annoying, that Mrs. Hughes should prefer her. It remained a source of some satisfaction to Mary that Edith was no one's pet.

"I've just come from Carson and he's told me your news." Unlike Mr. Carson, Lady Mary was always prepared to dive headlong into any situation.

There was no need to explain. They both knew what she meant. Lady Mary paused and for a moment she almost faltered. She knew what she wanted to say but had never quite put the feeling she wanted to express into words. Carson just _knew_ and it had never been anyone else's concern. Her eyes traveled around the office, taking in the simple furniture, the sparse accoutrements, as she gathered her thoughts.

Mrs. Hughes waited patiently in silence. It was for Lady Mary to explain her presence, not Mrs. Hughes to anticipate her words.

Finally it came to her and Lady Mary leveled her somewhat disconcertingly clear gaze upon the housekeeper. "I want you to know, Mrs. Hughes, that you and Carson have my full support and I wish you both all the best for a happy life together."

Mrs. Hughes knew that Lady Mary was sincere, knew this because she was well aware of the relationship that existed between this young woman of the house and the butler. Still, Lady Mary's words sounded a little stilted, awkward.

"Thank you, my lady," she said formally. "That means a lot. Especially to Mr. Carson." Mr. Carson was, after all, the reason why they were standing here staring at each other, neither one of them completely comfortable.

At the sound of his name, Lady Mary's already potent stare suddenly intensified, her great dark eyes glistening. "Carson is...very important to me, Mrs. Hughes." It was as much as she could say, but it said a great deal, and Mrs. Hughes discerned all that was behind the simple words.

She smiled encouragingly at Lady Mary, and said softly, "And to me, my lady."

In that moment, a different kind of smile played about Lady Mary's lips and she nodded, one of those slow, deep nods that signaled a deeper understanding. And then she took a breath and the moment passed and her official smile, too genial to be genuine, returned.

"Well!" she said airily. "Something in common. At last." And with a mischievous rolling of her eyes, indicating a hint of awareness of the other woman's perception of her, she swept from the room.

Mrs. Hughes continued to stare at the door even after Lady Mary had disappeared. _Well, that was a first_ , she said to herself. But she was pleased. She knew Mr. Carson had been concerned about how Lady Mary would react to the news, not that he would admit to it. But Lady Mary meant so much to him. She was, Mrs. Hughes knew, the daughter he'd never had, and no man could love a child more. But his devotion to Lady Mary kept him in thrall to her, too, and while he was always prepared to cross her if he felt it was in her best interests to do so, a serious falling-out with her would have distressed him. And had he not had cause for trepidation here? They were both aware that Mrs. Crawley's announced engagement to Lord Merton had been called off because of the unbridled opposition of his sons to the match. Lady Mary, for all her self-absorption, had never posed a match to the Grey boys for insensitivity, but a dismissive or derogatory remark from her would have wounded Mr. Carson irreparably, Mrs. Hughes was sure of that. What a relief that she did, in fact, seriously care for him, for Mrs. Hughes understood Lady Mary's guarded admission of his importance to her for the confession of the deeper emotional attachment that it was. Apparently Lady Mary was made of the finer stuff Mr. Carson had always asserted. In this moment, Mrs. Hughes's heart warmed toward her as it had never done before. _He'll be pleased_ , she told herself.

 **His Lady Mary**

She wanted to see him again briefly before they went upstairs for the annual distribution of gifts from the family and went along to his office in high spirits. What a wonderful morning she was having! She had knocked on his closed-over door and was halfway through it when her eyes fell on him and she stopped abruptly.

He was standing behind his desk, staring down at a small open box that lay there, and the raw emotion on his face hit her almost like a blow. Mr. Carson was a man of intense feeling, and though she had seen hints of this over the years, not until last night had she glimpsed the depths of which he was capable. And now here it was, out in the open again. When he looked up at her, the emotion in his countenance was so jagged and pure that she was not sure whether it was pain or pleasure.

"What is it?" she asked in a whisper, gripped with a feeling of apprehension.

He pursed his lips in a stern line, trying to contain the feelings that were clearly threatening to spill over in one form or another, and gestured with his head for her to come into the room.

She did so, closing the door firmly behind her and hastening to his side. She held her hand out to him and he gripped it immediately. That day at the beach when he had taken her hand to steady himself as he joined her in the water flitted briefly through her mind. "What is it?" she asked again as his dark eyes, wet with the tears of fierce emotion, met hers. He could not speak. Instead his gaze dropped to the box on the table, and he gestured to it at the same time with his other hand in which he held a small note card.

Mrs. Hughes followed the direction he indicated and her eyes came to rest on the small box that had so shaken him. Inside it were a rosette boutonniere enhanced by a sprig of holly and a corsage of baby white carnations against a backdrop of holly and a tiny but distinguishable hint of mistletoe. They were beautiful. She did not understand and looked up at him seeking explanation. Hardly able to contain the feelings that were clearly surging through him, he wordlessly handed her the note. It contained a short message in a woman's hand: _Happy Christmas, Carson. Lady Mary._

Now all was clear and the relief that flooded through her quickly dissipated in the wake of a more powerful current of joy, joy for him. His office door was unlocked and at any moment someone might come barging in on them, but Mrs. Hughes did not care about that. She slid an arm around his waist and gave him a bit of a hug, looking up at him as she did so to catch the still- undecided contest unfolding there amidst the avalanche of unfamiliar emotion.

"She's done you proud, Mr. Carson," Mrs. Hughes said softly, and she tightened her arm around him as the dam of decorum within him threatened to break. She knew that a kind comment from her about Lady Mary would only add to his emotional turmoil, but she felt obliged to give credit where credit was due, and that young woman deserved her commendation this morning. "Your Lady Mary has done you proud," she said again and leaned into Mr. Carson to offer him her strength.

He seemed at a crossroads. Mrs. Hughes pressed her fingers into his back and began to move them in a comforting circular pattern. "Get a grip on yourself, now, Mr. Carson. We've got a busy day to get through." She spoke in her usual matter-of-fact tone, which was something of a challenge for her at this moment of high emotion, but he needed her help in restoring his equilibrium and a return to ordinary patterns was essential to achieve that.

Mr. Carson nodded. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and then another one, his great chest quavering with the effort. He leaned back against her hand, drawing comfort or calm from her touch. He took more deep breaths and the naked feelings engraved on his features when she had entered the room began to fade. When he opened them again, his dark eyes were still pools of emotion, but the currents appeared to have calmed. He smiled, then, weakly, in acknowledgment of Mrs. Hughes's support.

"There now,"she said, smiling back at him. Feeling that she could do so now, she let her eyes fall on the flowers once more. They _were_ beautiful. Lady Mary would have had Trent in the greenhouse make them up. It was an extraordinary gesture of thoughtfulness on her part. Mrs. Hughes reached out to pick up the boutonniere and then turned to face Mr. Carson. He stood perfectly still while she slipped the rose into place and pinned it there. "You'll be the handsomest man in the house today," she declared in a hearty voice. And then, as his eyes glistened again, she took his hand and held it tightly, saying nothing.

He made an ineffectual gesture at the corsage. "I can't..."

"I know," she interrupted him. "I'll ask Anna to help me with it." With her other hand she gently pulled Lady Mary's note out of his grip. "Best keep this some place safe," she said, and tucked it into the inner pocket of his jacket next to his heart. He could only offer a slight grimace of a smile in gratitude.

For a moment longer they stood in silence and then, squeezing his hand once more, she released him. "We'll be going up soon," she said.

He nodded. And then he grabbed the hand she had just taken from him. "I love you," he said softly, staring at her so hard she found the intensity startling. He had not said these words, neither of them had, the night before. In that moment they would have been superfluous. But here and now, he needed to say them and Mrs. Hughes's own heart swelled to hear them.

"I know."

He let her go then and she picked up the corsage and headed for the door. When she glanced back at him, he was standing with his head back and his eyes closed, taking deep, calming breaths once more. She was confident he would regain his composure, but also certain it would take some effort. She left him to it.


	6. Chapter 6: Sharing Joyful News

**Exchanging News With Anna**

 _I'll ask Anna to help me with it._

She said these words so blithely, and now, as she walked back to her sitting room, she had a pang of conscience. Last night, when she and Mr. Carson had been down here opening a new chapter in their lives, Mr. Bates had suddenly appeared upstairs in the great hall and as suddenly disappeared with Anna. Mrs. Hughes had only dimly registered this news when Mrs. Patmore excitedly confided it to her during another Christmas carol, so immersed was she in the glorious turn of events in her own life.

She had not set eyes on either one of them this morning and, worse, had not given them more than a passing thought. Sweeping into her consciousness now they managed to displace for a moment her own happy absorptions. What relief and joy Anna must have known to see her dear Mr. Bates again and to know that, for him at least, the nightmare of criminal prosecution was over. Mrs. Hughes was surprised at her own lack of consideration.

"You must be losing your mind," she muttered. And then, _But when did I have a spare minute?_ Well, she could rectify that now by going to find Anna. The thought had hardly completed itself in her mind when she heard a summons from behind her.

"Mrs. Hughes!" She whirled about and there was Anna, hurtling down the corridor towards her. "Mr. Bates is back, Mrs. Hughes! He's come home!" It was rather a breach of Downton decorum, but such things seemed to be of little import _this_ morning.

Mrs. Hughes would have embraced the young woman on the spot, but she still held the box with the corsage it in and this made things awkward. "In here!" she said excitedly, ushering Anna into her sitting room. Again the sitting room. _I should have just drawn up an appointment roster for the whole household at fifteen minute intervals_! she told herself. She put the box on her side table and then turned to envelop Anna in a celebratory hug.

"I'm so happy for you!" she said, holding Anna close. She was startled anew at her own thoughtlessness. Why hadn't Anna occurred to her as the first person she wanted to tell? "What perfect timing on Mr. Bates's part!" she exclaimed. "Christmas Eve!" It had been a magic evening in more than one quarter, apparently.

Anna's face was glowing and when she spoke, she was almost incoherent with a confusion of emotions. "Oh, I'm just so glad to have him back, Mrs. Hughes. I know ...nothing's settled yet, and we may ...possibly ...have further troubles, because...they're not finished with me yet, but... I know I can bear anything if he's here with me." She finished on a strong note and stared piercingly into Mrs. Hughes's eyes, as if willing her words to be true.

"Of course, you can," Mrs. Hughes responded with assurance. "But don't be thinking of that now. Just enjoy him. I'm sorry I didn't see him last night."

"No one saw Mr. Bates last night," Anna said with a coy smile. "Except Mrs. Patmore. We just slipped right away."

"As you should have, lass. I'm just delighted for you."

They embraced again and Mrs. Hughes found herself feeling a little choked up. "I was just looking for you," she said, pulling back a little and making an attempt to regain her equanimity. "I wanted to ask if you'd help me with this." She turned to the side table and lifted the lid of the box that Anna might see the flowers within. "I can't make my fingers keep still enough to..." She laughed a little as she spoke, a silly, giddy little laugh, the kind she sternly discouraged among the maids. Mrs. Hughes considered herself a very down to earth person who was not easily flustered, if at all. But she had been in what she called "a state" ever since Mr. Carson's memorably unromantic declaration: _I do want to be stuck with you_. And there didn't seem to be anything should could do about it.

Anna took great care in handling the tender flowers and paused to examine them with an appreciative eye before turning to Mrs. Hughes. Unrivalled at Downton in her capacity for empathy, Anna was able to turn away from her own consuming joy for a moment and attune herself to the unfamiliar sensations of excitement emanating from the ordinarily reticent housekeeper.

"You have an admirer," she said, with a knowing smile. And the lilt in her voice and her raised eyebrows suggested that Anna had her suspicions as to whom that might be.

"It's from Lady Mary, actually," Mrs. Hughes told her impishly, muddying the water a little and enjoying it.

A bemused expression flitted across Anna's face and then a treasured memory surfaced and a look of understanding came over her. "In acknowledgment of some happy development?" she asked, her dancing eyes crinkling with anticipation.

"Mr. Carson and I are going to be married!" Mrs. Hughes blurted, and suddenly she was babbling. "I'd about given up on him, Anna! I've wanted this for so long!" She didn't know where that had come from, except, of course, directly from her heart. And then she was crying as she had not done even with Mrs. Patmore an hour ago. "What kind of a spectacle must I be making of myself?" she gasped, turning around and trying to remember where she had left a handkerchief. But then Anna put her arms around her and held her in a calm and comforting embrace. "I don't know what's come over me! I didn't carry on like this with Mr. Carson!"

"You've had a great shock," Anna said soothingly. "A wonderful shock, to be sure, but a shock all the same." She stroked Mrs. Hughes's arm in a calming way.

"I feel like a fool." Mrs. Hughes finally found the handkerchief she kept in a small side pocket and tried to dry her tears.

"Not a bit of it," Anna said bracingly, and then, as some semblance of decorum returned to the other woman, Anna's sweet countenance broke out in a radiant glow, a manifestation of her tremendous empathy. "This is just wonderful, Mrs. Hughes. I wouldn't have thought it possible to be any happier than I was this morning when I woke up with Mr. Bates beside me, but now my heart is bursting inside of me for us and for you and Mr. Carson."

They embraced again.

"Now, I'm a great mess," Mrs. Hughes fumed for effect.

"We'll have you right in a jiffy," Anna told her in a sprightly tone. "But first..." She picked up the corsage again and efficiently pinned it to Mrs. Hughes's dress.

They stood close together while Anna did her work and Mrs. Hughes found herself examining the delicate features of the Anna's face - the fine bone structure, the pale skin, the white-gold tresses that framed them. She was a lovely girl who did not deserve the hardships she had endured.

"I've never even had the good sense to be envious of you, Anna. Now that I know what is like to love and be loved, I can appreciate all the more your fortitude in all the trials you've faced."

Anna smiled still, but her chin edged out in a statement of determination. "I'd rather love and be vulnerable, Mrs. Hughes, than never love at all."

She'd said something similar years ago, when Mr. Bates left Downton with his first wife, ostensibly never to return. Mrs. Hughes had heard it then as Anna making the best of it. Now she thought she could understand the sentiment. Her own life had had too few hills and valleys.

"Mr. Carson is a good man, Mrs. Hughes. And he loves you very much," Anna said forcefully, standing back to look at her handiwork.

Mrs Hughes gave her a sharp look. "How do you know that?"

Anna rolled her eyes and said, in a slightly patronizing tone, "I've got eyes, haven't I?" She took Mrs. Hughes's hands in hers for a moment, held them tightly, and then let go. "Now, I've just got to run upstairs to finish something up." Impulsively she hugged Mrs. Hughes again. "Happy Christmas!" She took a few steps and then twirled around again, her hands clasped in excitement. "May I tell Mr. Bates your news?"

"By all means!"

Mrs. Hughes paused to catch her breath. This morning had been nothing more than an emotional carousel and she was getting less able to contain her feelings by the minute. She really had to pull herself together. She was jarred from this self-directed call to sensibility by Anna's voice in the corridor.

"Mr. Carson! Happy Christmas! I'm so happy for you!"

Sticking her head out the door, Mrs. Hughes was just in time to see Anna reaching up to plant a congratulatory kiss on Mr. Carson's cheek, and then racing off toward the stairs. Except for that look of dazed pleasure on his face, _he_ looked like he'd regained his composure. Just the sight of him restored her own.

"I thought you didn't like to be 'publicly mauled,'" she called out in a sardonic tone.

He whirled around, startled. When he saw that it was her, he affected a more serious and slightly impatient demeanour. "When there's no one around to see," he said with all the dignity he could muster, "it isn't public."

"Well, _I_ saw."

His mouth twisted in a grimace and he tried a different tack. "Anna's behaviour," he said in a deliberate manner, "was modest, discreet, and appropriate."

"And she's young and beautiful, besides."

For a few seconds he looked like he might make a stand, and then his resolve collapsed, and his shoulders sagged, and he sighed in resignation. "Am I going to lose _every_ disagreement with you from now on, Mrs. Hughes?"

She smiled. "I'd say so."

 **Miracles**

Anna dashed up the servants' staircase to the second floor and emerged onto the gallery at the far end of the passage leading to Lady Mary's room. To her surprise and delight, there was Mr. Bates just starting her way from the other end. No one else was in sight. They had a routine when this happened, each taking one side of the hallway and approaching at whatever pace was required for the task of the moment. As they came closer, their smiles would broaden and their movement accelerate. When they were within arm's length, they would seize each other's hands, pull together, and kiss, executing a half circle turn as they did so. Then they would move apart, releasing hands at the last moment, and carry on about their business, pausing only to throw a smile over their shoulders at one another as distance separated them.

Everything went as usual this time except that when they drew together for what should have been a kiss, Anna turned her head to one side that she might whisper in his ear. "Mr. Carson asked Mrs. Hughes to marry him!"

Though she spoke softly, Anna managed to convey the excitement of the news and John Bates laughed aloud, as much at her enthusiasm as at the message itself. And when she moved away in keeping with their usual practice, he only let her get to arm's length and then drew her back again.

"Are you kidding me?" he demanded, his expression a mixture of disbelief and mirth.

Anna, beaming, nodded vigorously. "Last night," she added, and tried to pull away, without success.

"What did she say?" Bates was grinning now, his eyes round with excited curiosity.

Anna almost fell for it. "What do you think she said!" she demanded incredulously, and then caught the twinkle in his eye. "Oh, Mr. Bates!"

His laugh grew louder. He was happy to be playing games with her again in the corridors of Downton Abbey. "Come here," he said, and pulled her in for their ritual kiss. This time when she moved away, he let her go and she sailed away, floating on air.

When she glanced back at him though, he had not moved, and was looking after her with a slightly sceptical expression on his face, not quite ready to believe what he'd heard. Anna's customary grin was even brighter than usual and she nodded fiercely in affirmation of the news. And then she disappeared into the Lady Mary's room.

For a long moment, Bates stood there, meditating on the news. "Well," he said aloud, "they say it is the season of miracles."


	7. Chapter 7: Robert Announces the News

**Lord Grantham Announces the News**

"I think that was one of the happiest of those occasions I've ever attended," Cora declared, as the family made their way to the library for Christmas luncheon.

It was a Downton Christmas tradition that the family distribute gifts to the servants before they separated for the midday meal. The female servants routinely received bolts of cloth from which to make themselves a new dress. Cora enjoyed selecting patterns and cloths for the different women and they were almost uniformly grateful for her interest. She had good taste as well as a practical streak that made her choices appropriate to their needs. Gifts for the male servants usually included implements for their shaving or shoeshine kits, purchases that were much less interesting to make (or receive) and were often delegated to Mrs. Hughes, who had a better idea of what to get them anyway. Cora was resigned to the fact that responsibility for the servants fell exclusively to her with the single exception of Carson. Robert took some pleasure in seeking out books for Carson and several of the volumes in the butler's personal collection had come to him this way. They were almost all historical in nature - royal genealogy, heraldry, or accounts of the _rise_ of the British Empire. This was perhaps to be expected of Robert. Cora was less forbearing of the fact that he left the family to her as well, unless he was seized by some rare inspiration. After all, they were his daughters, son-in-law, and grandchildren, too.

A second and long-standing practice of the day was that the family retired to a cold, informal repast in the library and the servants to a rather more elaborate than usual luncheon downstairs. The family would eat their sumptuous Christmas meal at dinner. This was not the practice in every house but it was one that the Granthams embraced as a manifestation of their regard for their employees.

"It was indeed!" Robert said heartily, responding to Cora's remark. "What with Bates's return and..." Cora tightened her arm around his and gave him a meaningful look, "and ... everything," he finished lamely. But he grinned at her, enjoying the secret.

"Did you notice Carson's boutonniere and Mrs. Hughes's corsage?" Edith asked, as the family spread out around the library. "Hers was nicer than yours, Mama. Where would they have gotten them?" Edith's severe expression suggested she did not think these colourful accents were at all appropriate for members of staff.

"They were from me," Mary said coolly.

Cora exchanged gratified looks with Robert, and then smiled at her eldest daughter. "Well done, Mary."

"What did they do to deserve such consideration?" Edith demanded, casting an incredulous look at Mary. From the sound of it, Edith thought the reward unwarranted by the recipients while at same time regarding this act of generosity as beyond her sister.

Robert cleared his throat. "That gives me the opening I needed," he declared. "Now that we're all together, everyone, I want to make an announcement." He stood in front of the Christmas tree and waited until every eye was upon him. "You already know that Bates is back and that is a cause for celebration in itself. But we have more good news. The fact is that Carson and Mrs. Hughes are going to be married!"

A cry of delight escaped Isobel Crawley. A rather more strangled gasp emanated from the Dowager Lady Grantham, who groped at her throat. "A glass of water!" she rasped, as though choking on something. Tom hastened to the sideboard to fetch it for her.

"That is so sweet! One must seize hold of love wherever one finds it!" Rose exclaimed and she turned immediately to Atticus and leaned up to nuzzle him. "Only," she added, drawing back from him, her perpetually radiant smile dimming a little, "what a tragedy, too. I mean, imagine waiting all of your life to find the love of your life!" She was almost moved to tears.

Atticus swiftly wrapped her in his arms to remind her that she had been reprieved from such an awful fate. "What wonderful news for Carson and Mrs. Hughes," he said, almost breathlessly. "I said _bravo_ to them!"

Rose, overcome at the greatness of his heart, melted into him.

Mary glanced at them with mingled feelings of amusement and distaste. "I was never like that," she said in an aside to Tom, distracting him from Robert's announcement. "Please tell me I was never like that."

"It seems a bit ridiculous to me," Edith said. "Why would anyone that old bother getting married? Can't they just hold hands by the fire as friends?"

"What good questions," Mary responded acidly. "Perhaps we could call Sir Anthony Strallan and ask him. Oh, wait, you were going to marry him. We could just ask you."

"Mary!" Cora said with some exasperation. It occurred to Cora that one Christmas without Mary and Edith at each other's throats would be welcome.

Mary tossed her head in indignation. "She started it."

"I beg your pardon, Edith," declared the Dowager, the shock of the news itself now jarred by her granddaughter's reaction. "What do you mean by that remark? Are you suggesting that love is only for the young?"

"Oh, granny."

"Don't 'oh, granny,' me, my dear."

"I'm afraid I'm with your grandmother, there, Edith," Isobel Crawley put in cheerfully. "Love does not have to dissolve into cordial friendship when one passes a certain age. In fact, it is still possible for passion and romance to..."

"I think this conversation has gone far enough," Robert interceded, with a look of consternation on his face. He was always uncomfortable with sensitive personal detail. "Crikey. I thought this was a piece of good news that we could all celebrate."

"And so it is," Mary said smoothly. "I think it's lovely, and Carson, and Mrs. Hughes, too, have my full support."

"What a surprise," Edith said. "You and Carson have had a mutual admiration society for years."

"Jealous?"

"Of your relationship with the butler? Hardly." Edith shook her head. "Does this mean they'll be leaving Downton, Papa? Now that _would_ be a problem."

"Do you _ever_ think of anyone but yourself?" Mary demanded.

" _That's_ the pot calling the kettle black."

"I am happy to say that they will _not_ be leaving service," Robert said quickly, trying to recapture the happiness of the moment. "Your mother and I have told them we would be pleased to make accommodations for them to remain here."

"Dear me," sighed the Dowager, having recovered from the initial jolt. "This is not just a matter of another brick in the wall, but a question of the whole edifice itself caving in. How can Carson do this to me? He was my last ally in the battle against change!"

"I would much rather have Carson and Mrs. Hughes leading a revolution, than put up with Denker and Spratt sniping at each other," Mary intoned impatiently. "And what's so wrong with the idea of the staff having a life? We've already established the precedent with Anna and Bates anyway."

"Hear, hear," Cora echoed her.

"I think it's wonderful news," Tom declared, finally finding an opening to inject his views into the conversation. "And I, for one, will be glad to congratulate them at the first opportunity."

"As will I!"Isobel declared with her characteristic enthusiasm.

"Butlers didn't marry in my day," Lady Grantham declared.

"But that kind of attitude is something for the past, surely," countered Isobel.

"Do you take issue with everything I say on principle?" the Dowager responded. "Why must the fact that an idea or a practice originated sometime before yesterday afternoon be in itself a reason to discard it? Ought I to be set adrift on an ice floe merely because I wasn't born yesterday?"

"Cousin Violet, we're not talking about human life here. We're talking about attitudes, and surely they must change and progress as time unfolds?"

" _Why_? If it was right in the past, then why is it to be assumed that it cannot be right now?"

"Because things _change._ "

"Oh, dear. There it is." Lady Grantham shifted in her seat that she not have to look directly at Isobel, a physical indication of what she thought of that unsavoury term. " _Change_." She said it with all the disgust she could muster.

"Seriously, Cousin Violet, are you truly opposed to Carson and Mrs. Hughes marrying and continuing to work at Downton?"

"In principle, of course. In the specific case, no, not really. But I think their marriage would only prove my point."

"Which is?"

"My dear, _they_ know their place. They have lived two lifetimes in service and they know what that means. I don't imagine much of anything will change at Downton whether they are married or not, including with them. But they are the exception that proves the rule!"

Isobel stared at her with a look that was halfway between disbelief and amusement. "I don't think you're really as disapproving of the issue as you pretend," she said with some exuberance. "You just like to take a position for effect."

Lady Grantham gazed at her with undisguised exasperation. "I _never_ pose. And it would be a refreshing start to 1925 were you to begin to take me at my word." Before Isobel could launch a further attack, the Dowager executed a flank assault to derail it. "Are you quite all right, my dear?" She spoke in a surprisingly sympathetic tone.

Isobel allowed herself to be diverted. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"Well, only that news of this nature must recall your own less fruitful dreams of late?"

"That's done now, Cousin Violet. I'm not...over...Lord Merton, not yet. But I will be. And I'm happy for Carson and Mrs. Hughes and will go down and tell them so after luncheon. I might be a bit envious, knowing that they have to answer to no one about their decisions and are thus free to act. But we all have different challenges and I'm glad that theirs are, in this at least, less onerous than mine."

Tom found it odd that Isobel, of all people, should put it this way. To his mind, the servants had much greater barriers to overcome than she had faced. After all, Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes confronted a social system. Mrs. Crawley had only to deal with two rude men. He followed Mary as she moved across the room.

"It's been a very good day," Mary said to him. "First we find out that Bates is back and then the luncheon news is about Carson and Mrs. Hughes. It's almost enough to make me forget that you and Sybbie are off to America in a few days."

Tom decided to dodge the sore subject of his departure and focus on happier things. "You knew, of course, about Carson and Mrs. Hughes."

"Yes," she said with a pleased look. "Carson told me this morning after he and Mrs. Hughes spoke to Mama and Papa." In other circumstances, Mary might have been tempted to make a flippant comment - _"It was quite an emotional scene_ " - or something to that effect. But her feelings for Carson were sincere and no such thought crossed her mind. Indeed, she was still recovering a little from her own emotional investment in that conversation and by the fresh evidence of Carson's love for her. She did not often pause to contemplate how fortunate she was in him.

"Are you happy for Mr. Carson?"

The question seemed an odd one to Mary. "Of course, I am. What must you think of me to suggest otherwise?"

"Not a little jealous of Mrs. Hughes for stealing his affections?" Tom teased.

Mary saw the glint of mischief in Tom's eye. "No, Tom," she said firmly, but with a smile. "Jealous, no. Envious, perhaps. The look in his eyes when he spoke of her. Matthew used to look at me that way." She swallowed that sentiment with some difficulty and turned to humour to assist her. "We're not good friends, Mrs. Hughes and I. But Carson has assured me that that won't matter and it won't. She loves him too much. I saw that when I spoke to her afterward."

Tom was a little distracted. "But you've seen that before in the two of them. How much they care for each other."

Mary shook her head. "Not at all. In fact, it was quite the surprise." She frowned a little at the expression on Tom's face. "Well, how could I have known? I hardly ever see them together."

"Of course." Tom tried not to react overtly, but inwardly he was shaking his head in wonder. How was it possible, he thought, that people who lived in such proximity to one another could be so wholly oblivious to the dearest concerns of the other? And it was even more of a perplexity in the specific case of Mary and Mr. Carson, for Tom had long been aware of the affectionate relationship that existed between them. But, then, it wasn't a reciprocal relationship, was it? for the obliviousness only worked one way. Mr. Carson, he suspected, had known of Mary's love for Matthew Crawley at least as long as Mary had. It occurred to Tom to be glad that Sybil had not been Mr. Carson's favourite, or their courtship might have been even more turbulent. Lord Grantham had been quite enough to tackle.

"Well, did _you_?" Mary demanded, watching the subtle shifts in Tom's countenance.

Tom leaned in toward her as a matter of discretion. "They've been in love for years, Mary. At least ten. Probably more."

Mary was a bit taken aback at the idea of Tom knowing something about Carson that she did not, especially something so intimate. She stared at him with her mouth open just a little in shock.

"They might not have put it that way," Tom went on. "Him in particular. Because they could not even consider acting upon it at the risk of imperiling their jobs. But it's been there all along, just the same."

"What do you mean?" Mary asked, almost a little indignantly.

"Mary, even _I_ know that butlers and housekeepers aren't allowed to marry. Or weren't, anyway. Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes have spent their working lives trapped in an archaic and oppressive economic and social system that's denied them a fundamental aspect of human existence, kept them celibate that they might better serve their _betters_." Tom didn't want to sound bitter, but it was an effort not to do so. He often wondered that the English working class did not rise up in revolution as the Russians had.

She found his words confusing and not a little insulting. "They aren't slaves, Tom. None of them are. Carson was always free to walk away if he'd thought another life would suit him better."

"You make it sound so easy." It was on shoals such as these that Tom found his cultivated complacency with life at Downton Abbey breaking. Mary, Lord Grantham, and the Dowager Lady Grantham would just never understand that it wasn't a matter of choice that the lower classes lived as they did, but rather that there were larger forces that circumscribed their opportunities. The Granthams were, perhaps, incapable of such understanding. America, he thought, was going to be a breath of fresh air.

"Well, _you_ did it," Mary observed defensively. She had always believed that the lives of those who worked at Downton Abbey had been positively influenced by the experience. She was more than a little discomfited by the idea that it was not uniformly so and, worse, that Carson might have been adversely affected by it.

"Mr. Carson and I are very different men," Tom said quietly.

For a moment, Mary was distracted. She liked the way he said that. She could tell from his tone and his manner that he meant nothing derogatory about Carson. Indeed, Mary had never heard him speak to or about Carson with anything but respect, while she had certainly observed Carson struggling to suppress his disapproval of Tom on more than one occasion.

"Mr. Carson believes in the system, Mary. I never did. And it wasn't that easy for me either. He chose the life and accepted its limitations. All I'm saying is that they were stupid limitations. It was unfair to make him live the life of a priest as a prerequisite for running Downton Abbey."

"It's unfair to make a priest live the life of a priest," Mary quipped, unable to resist the opportunity to exercise her wit. "I think I can agree with you, Tom, to a point. The system may not have its merits now, but I'm sure there was some practical reason for it in the past." Even as she said it, Mary realized that that sounded a lot like something her grandmother might say.

Tom smiled humourlessly, not wanting to sound patronizing or to hurt Mary's feelings. "It was all about making sure that the servant never thought about himself so that he might give heart, mind, and soul to the interests of his master."

"You make the aristocracy sound evil, Tom."

"This isn't an interpretation, Mary. It's a reality."

"And I thought Carson has been happy at Downton."

"I think he has been," Tom said congenially, trying to prevent the Christmas spirit from evaporating completely. "But I'm certain he's going to be a lot happier after he's married Mrs. Hughes."

Cora joined them then, and as she did so Robert summoned Tom from across the room. Tom nodded politely to the women and walked away.

"Mary, you look cross and Edith is on the other side of the room." Cora did not usually use the conflict between her daughters as a source for humour, but there really was no other obvious answer to Mary's frown.

"Tom's just been making me feel like an ogre because Carson and Mrs. Hughes didn't marry a hundred years ago," she said bluntly. "Mama, did _you_ know that they cared for each other?"

The thought of the morning's conversation with the butler and housekeeper brought a warm smile to Cora's face and her always animated eyes glowed. "Well, not exactly. I mean, Carson has said a few things over the years, usually expressing a concern about Mrs. Hughes's health or well-being. She's a bit of a dark horse, always much harder to read. It never crossed my mind that they might marry until I saw them before us this morning and then suddenly that's all I could think. Your father was sure they were going to announce their joint retirement. He might have had a heart attack right there had they done so."

That did not offer much solace to Mary. "So you _are_ supportive of their remaining here once married?"

"Of course, we are. Aren't you?"

Mary didn't even bother to grace that with a response.

"When did you learn the news?" Tom asked Robert, as the latter enthusiastically poured himself a shot of whisky.

"Robert," Cora called from across the room. "Celebrating Christmas is one thing. Drinking for the sake of drinking is quite another."

Robert ignored her and sipped blissfully of the fiery drink. "Carson and Mrs. Hughes spoke to us this morning."

"So you've not had time to discuss logistics with them, where they'll live and so forth."

"No, of course not. We spoke only of the fact itself."

"And you're pleased by it? Even though it flouts tradition?"

Robert knew that Tom was teasing him, but that there was a serious element to his questions as well. And his own cheerful expression faded into a more reflective countenance as he considered his response.

"I might have been troubled once, Tom. But right now I can't remember why. I was raised to believe that love should always yield to social convention - that the chauffeur ought not to aspire above his station, that butlers and housekeepers must not marry, that other... _indiscretions_..." It was not the word he wanted to use and he frowned in frustration at the inaccuracy of it. "...must be hidden away or erased altogether." These last words he spoke in a harsh tone, his eyes focused across the room.

Tom followed his gaze and found himself looking at Edith. His eyes came swiftly back to Robert's and he saw in them a glint of tears and watched as Robert visibly called himself back to a more composed _mien_. He turned to Tom with a tight smile.

"I think differently now, Tom. And thank God for it. And you have played a part in my evolution. I treated you abominably when you and Sybil announced your intentions and it took me a long time to overcome my opposition. I learned to appreciate the fact that you made her very happy. And in everything you have done at Downton in the past few years, you have made _me_ very happy. Everyone has benefited. When Carson made his announcement this morning I felt only joy for him and Mrs. Hughes, and relief for myself. I'm not _completely_ without selfish thoughts," he added, with a brief smile. "But more so than that, Tom, you made it possible for me to accept and welcome instead of reject and wound in other circumstances that are very close to my heart. You helped me see that it is the things of the heart that we should cherish. I am very grateful to you."

Tom was staggered by the open emotion in Robert's face, and even more astonished by his words. It was a moment before he could speak. "Take some credit for yourself, Robert," he said, calling his father-in-law by his first name for the first time. "Your heart was open to such a transformation. Not everyone's is." And then, feeling the necessity of bringing them both back from this profound revelation, he added with a bit of a smile, "We may make a revolutionary out of you yet."

Robert just grinned at him. "Now, look!" he declared, with sudden enthusiasm. "I had Carson bring up champagne for today that we might celebrate our family in style!" He reached for one of the chilling bottles. "Help me with this, Tom."

Between the two of them, they distributed the crystal glasses of the sparkling wine and called for the attention of all. And then Robert raised his glass to make a toast.


	8. Chapter 8: When Systems Crumble

**When Systems Crumble**

As he ushered the family into the dining room for their Christmas dinner, Mr. Carson felt both exhilarated and refreshed.

The exhilaration came from the fact that the news had now been disseminated the length and breadth of Downton Abbey - and probably across half the village by this time, too - liberating him from the constraints of pretending that this was just an ordinary Christmas. Their lunchtime announcement in the servants' hall had met a delighted reception and elicited the expected good wishes.

Mr. Bates's reaction had been predictably understated and directly on the mark. He had taken Mr. Carson's hand and said quietly, and with characteristic deliberation, "You are a very lucky man."

Mrs. Patmore had put up a bit of a fuss. "What do you mean you're not retiring? I thought you were retiring! You mean I've been crying into my soup all morning for nothing?" In vain, Mrs. Hughes informed her that she had never mentioned retirement in their earlier conversation.

Even Mr. Carson had been amused by an exchange he had inadvertently overheard. Mr. Barrow, responding to a query from Anna, had sullenly remarked, "And it really isn't news, is it? You have to be thick indeed not to have seen _that_ coming." By sheer chance, Mr. Molesley was passing them at that very moment, deep in conversation with Miss Baxter, to whom he then declared, "I didn't see that coming! Did you?" It happened only rarely, but Mr. Carson felt at one with Mr. Barrow in exasperation at that. On any given day, Mr. Carson preferred to deal with the under-butler's insolence than the _first_ footman's obtuseness. He had been shaking his head at Molesley when Mrs. Hughes sidled up to him and remarked that their own news might be setting the stage for like developments in the future. When he followed her gaze to Molesley and Miss Baxter, speaking earnestly to each other, he had shuddered at the prospect.

Andrew and Daisy had fussed over Mrs. Hughes and he was glad of it, for her sake, and happier still that they managed to rein in their enthusiasm in offering him their good wishes.

And Mr. Bates had concluded the whole episode by producing several bottles of champagne His Lordship had sent down to mark the return of the valet, the engagement of the butler and housekeeper, and the observance of the season. Mr. Barrow's indifference to the various elements of the celebrations did not prevent him from enjoying the champagne.

Mr. Carson also came to the duties involved in upstairs dinner feeling refreshed. No sooner had downstairs luncheon been concluded, than Mrs. Hughes had called him on his exhaustion and dispatched him to his room to catch up a little on his sleep. Mr. Barrow, honouring the arrangements thrust upon him in the early morning hours, assumed the butler's responsibilities for the afternoon. And he had slept very well, now that the anxieties of the past few weeks had been put to rest so satisfactorily. Combined, these feelings put him at the top of his game as he oversaw the unfolding of the Crawleys' grand formal dinner on Christmas night.

Of course it was only to be expected that those members of the family who had not already spoken with him would offer their congratulations on his engagement to Mrs. Hughes. He accepted the compliments of Mr. Aldridge and Lady Rose, and Tom Branson, and the renewed best wishes of Mrs. Crawley. He noted only in passing the absence of congratulations from Lady Edith because he was preoccupied with the rather more serious prospect of the Dowager Lady Grantham who he expected to react to the news in a different manner than had the rest of the family. In this he was not disappointed.

"Carson." The family were not seated at the table two minutes.

Mr. Carson moved forward to stand at Her Ladyship's right side, at his professional best in both flawless attire and regal bearing. "My lady."

"I understand that you and Mrs. Hughes are engaged to be married."

He nodded in the affirmative. "We are, my lady."

"What on earth do you mean by it, Carson? I thought we were allies!"

Mr. Carson folded his hands behind his back and made a conciliatory bow. "I am afraid to admit it, my lady, but I have been overwhelmed by the relentless tide of change. In the end, I was too weak to withstand it. I have succumbed. I abandon you to the fight with the deepest regret."

This exchange unfolded in the most solemn tones between the Dowager Countess and the butler. Lady Violet's words were tinged with equal hints of disbelief and disappointment. Mr. Carson spoke with the gravity of a funeral oration and gave every evidence of sincerity.

There was not a shred of dignity on display anywhere else in the room. Robert, to whose right this exchange was taking place, stared bug-eyed across the table at Cora, his lips pressed tightly together to suppress an explosion of laughter. Cora stared right back at him with the same expression, her mouth twisted in a slight grimace as she struggled to keep from giggling aloud. Mrs. Crawley was smiling broadly, not in the least moved to make an effort to conceal her amusement. Tom was drowning his chuckling in a drink. Mary wasn't even bothering to restrain herself, only smothering her laughter in her napkin, and staring puckishly over her hand at Carson who studiously ignored her. Surprisingly, Rose and Atticus were perhaps the most successful in containing their mirth, for they laughed at so many things that they had a higher threshold for outright hilarity. Only Edith remained unmoved.

"You've disappointed me, Carson, I won't deny that," the Dowager continued. She looked at him and took note of his obsequious demeanour - whether sincere or affected the company had no real sense - and, satisfied, extended to him the magnanimity of her forgiveness. "But at least you've played the honourable part, taking responsibility for your own failings rather than blaming the woman concerned, as so many lesser men would. You have my blessing, Carson. I only hope you won't live to regret this decision."

"My lady." He gave her a deep nod and then stepped back again. As he did so, he locked eyes with Lady Mary, who had been staring at him throughout, her eyes dancing with laughter. He gave her a hard glare, reprimanding her for her lack of discretion, and then looked away, resuming his air of decorous detachment.

His behaviour only encouraged Mary, whose high spirits did not subside. She raised her eyebrows at Isobel, who had observed this exchange, and then looked around for other fodder for amusement. She found a likely source of it at the other end of the table.

"Edith, you look like you've been sucking on lemons all day. You haven't even congratulated Carson. Aren't you happy for him?"

"Why should I be?" Edith snapped and there was a suddenly painful silence all down the table. "I don't care one bit and I don't know why any of the rest of you do either. Who cares what the butler does in his spare time? I certainly don't."

"Edith..." Cora's look of amusement had transformed into an expression of alarm.

"All this fuss over _servants_ ," Edith fumed. "As if they matter."

Her fury had even gained the attention of Rose and Atticus, both of whom were staring at her with open mouths. Such a tirade might be expected from Lord Sinderby at Canningford Grange, but was radically out of place at the far more tranquil Downton Abbey.

"My dear Edith," the Dowager said in a shocked tone, "are you well?"

Mary's eyes went immediately to Carson and she saw in his face the impact of these cutting remarks before he was able to resume his neutral manner. She was incensed for him. "Carson, Lady Edith is being herself this evening," she said across the room to him. "I hope you can overlook her behaviour as the rest of us are always required to do." Then Mary levelled a glare at her sister, conveying her own repugnance in no uncertain terms.

Edith ignored Mary, but could not entirely avoid the disapprobation directed at her by every other person in the room. Everyone but Carson himself, whose professional _mien_ was so quickly restored, however much his inward sensibilities might be offended. And Tom. Edith was, in the moment, too self-absorbed to notice either of them. She was keenly aware of the rest. _Naturally, they take Mary's side_ , she seethed to herself, somehow conflating Carson with Mary and damning them both together.

She was more than halfway down the road to a full-blown binge of self-pity when Tom spoke quietly in her ear. "You are being _not at all_ like yourself," he said emphatically, and with no small measure of concern. "What's going on? Tell me." Where from the others she had drawn only shock and scorn on Carson's behalf, in Tom's voice Edith heard a sincere solicitude for her feelings.

Tom saw Mary frowning at them from the other end of the table and gave her an impatient little jerk with his chin. _Go away!_ He cared deeply for both of his sisters-in-law and was prepared to give both of them what aid and comfort he could where he could. In this instance, Edith needed his attention and Mary was an intruder.

Mary rolled her eyes at his attentiveness to Edith and turned to speak to Isobel.

"Edith," Tom prompted her.

But she only pressed her lips together tightly and shook her head impatiently at him.

"Come on," he said cajolingly. "There's something wrong, and don't tell me you got the wrong coloured scarf this morning, or that you're distressed that I'm leaving." He said that almost as a joke, but she did not rise to it. Instead, she sniffed a bit, trying to recover from the tidal wave of disapproval that had just swept over her.

Tom took a different approach. "I thought this was a good day for you," he said. "You love Christmas day. And you had little Marigold here with you at Downton Abbey to celebrate it. And you can feel secure here with her now that your parents know and have welcomed her..."

"But I don't!" Edith gulped, and her eyes widened with an internal agony and filled with tears that she fought valiantly to hold back. "And they haven't!"

Tom did not understand. "But ... they have. They know about her, and you, and have made it possible for you to live together, as you should."

"But not as their granddaughter!"

They were both speaking in intense but quiet whispers and were assured of some privacy in doing so as the conversation elsewhere had taken on a lively tone, in part as a nervous diversion from Edith's eruption.

"Haven't they?" Tom was a little confused at the direction of Edith's vehemence.

"No! Marigold is the orphan ward of the Crawley family," she said bitterly. "She is not acknowledged as my daughter and my parents' grandchild. Mary doesn't even know. Nor, for that matter, do Rose and Atticus."

"But... I thought that was the plan," Tom said. "That she would be raised here in your care, fully incorporated into your life, without exposure to the harsher judgments of society on both you and her should all the ... facts ... be revealed. What's changed?"

"It's not the _same_ , Tom! Mama and Papa _don't_ treat Marigold as they do Sybbie and George. And _they_ know who she is. Granny is, of course, equally disdainful of all the children. But it's more than that, Tom. It's just _unfair_! Why _can't_ Marigold take her rightful place with the other children? Why must _I_ have to put up with _Mary's_ airs of motherhood as if she's the only real mother in the room? Why can't Marigold and I be acknowledged for who and what we really are?"

This was a lot of emotional angst for Tom to absorb. "It _is_ unfair," he admitted. "And I'm very sorry that it's your lot, Edith. But _life_ is unfair. You've always known that, surely." It was a dangerous line to pursue with Edith. He did not want to pander to any inclination to self pity. "Your parents love Marigold," he said patiently, "and they have made a place for her here that will provide her with all the benefits of the family life to which she is entitled without exposing her to the unkindnesses of society. You know this!" He sat back for a moment and then, as Carson passed by them, Tom leaned forward again. "And anyway," he added, "what's this got to do with Carson or the news that he and Mrs. Hughes are going to be married?"

"Why does everyone care about them so much?" Edith demanded. "That's all everyone talked about at lunch! Now, we're talking about it again at dinner. They are _just_ servants!"

Her words shocked Tom as they had the others. He slumped back in his chair, perplexed. Edith's anger and sense of alienation were real, he understood that. But he did not think the specific expression of those sentiments consistent with her overall character. While it was true that Edith did not have a personal connection to either of the senior staff members, Tom would have thought that, in the abstract, Edith would have appreciated more than anyone else the romantic elements involved in their story. She took an interest in these things.

Edith, he recalled, was the only member of the family - apart from the Dowager who had both personal and status stakes in the matter - to attend the bittersweet wedding of Daisy and the doomed William. Edith had also gotten involved in the wedding plans of Matthew Crawley and Lavinia Swire and not just, Tom believed, because she thought it would annoy Mary. On a more personal front, Edith had come to Dublin with Mary to attend Tom's own wedding to their sister Sybil, and had immersed herself in the novelties of the Irish city and the Roman Catholic ritual in tribute to Sybil's choice, while Mary had exercised her customary aloofness and carefully shut out the differences. For Edith to reject a Downton wedding and all the romance that went with it, struck Tom as incongruous and it distressed him.

He supposed that the Edith of those weddings of years ago was not the same woman who sat before him now. Since then she might have become embittered by her own romantic disasters - abandonment at the altar by Sir Anthony Strallan and the unofficial widowhood that became her lot with the death of Michael Gregson.

He hated leaving Edith, leaving Downton and England, at this moment. He didn't like to think of Edith so anguished and with no one in whom she might seriously confide. It was not that Tom considered himself more qualified to offer her support than her immediate family, but rather than as someone who existed at a slight distance from the inner circle, he was capable of a degree of perspective. He needed a little time to think.

They sat in silence at the end of the table while animated conversations burbled around them. Tom noted that discussion of the wedding had lapsed, as good taste required, what with Carson standing right there. Tom did not doubt that after the servants retired from the drawing room tonight, such talk might recur. Absently, Tom watched Carson execute the delicate manoeuvre of filling wine glasses in and around the antics of Rose and Atticus who seemed to exist in a world by themselves and whose sudden movements made the deliberate act of pouring wine something of a challenge.

Today Edith had come face to face with the _difference_ of her life and of the circumstances of Marigold's life at Downton. This awareness was not new to her and her dissatisfaction with it had probably been percolating within her for the past few months. But the heightened emotional atmosphere of Christmas, perhaps exacerbated by his own imminent departure, had brought it storming to the surface. Edith did not like to be different. Few people really did. And the reality of her difference embittered her. An idea occurred to Tom and he turned to her.

"I want to tell you something," he said. "I don't know that it will help you, but it might give you some perspective and that, in itself, may help to ease your agony a very little."

Edith had little faith in success here, but Tom's attentiveness touched her and she did him the courtesy of listening.

"I want to tell you about two people who love each other very much. Maybe they're a man and a woman. Or perhaps a woman and a little girl. They ought to be husband and wife. Or mother and daughter. But they live in a world where there are rules, rules made up to serve someone else's purposes and interests. And under those rules, they are not allowed to love each other as they wish and as they should. They cannot claim their true identities as husband and wife. Or mother and daughter. They are obliged, instead, to assume other labels, colleague and co-worker, guardian and ward, and to play the roles that go along with them. And it's very difficult for them to do so, because they live in the same house. They spend hours a day together. And they love each other so much, this man and woman, or this woman and little girl. And they are not allowed to act on that love because the consequences of doing so will be severe for them, and neither party will ever inflict that suffering on the other by breaking the rules. And then, one day, the system that has devised the rules cracks. And for the first time in their lives together, there is a space where they can be who they really are, to each other and in the face of the world."

"Edith, today the system cracked open for Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes. It's their day. They've been waiting years for this to happen. Let them have it." He sighed. It was a deep anguished sigh such as only one watching over a loved one in pain could issue. "I hope to God you don't have to wait as long as they have for your day."

"Oh, Tom." Edith put a hand over his. "I'm going to miss you so much."

Over the course of the dinner, Cora and Robert had glanced frequently toward the end of the table, troubled by Edith's outburst but uncertain how to address it other than by the conventional approach of moving smoothly on in the moment and investigating in private later. Chance had it that they were both looking at Edith and Tom when she reached out to him, and both saw the grim expression on her tearful countenance brighten just a shade and Tom smile gently at her in return. In that moment, they turned from this sight to meet each other's eyes and saw there the same thought: _What a treasure he is_.


	9. Chapter 9: Tom Offers Congratulations

**Tom Branson Takes His Leave**

It was Christmas night and they were seated, as they often were at this time of the day, in Mrs. Hughes's sitting room, sharing a bottle of very good wine, one drawn from Mr. Carson's private stock. He did not purchase a lot of wine, but in his capacity as butler of Downton Abbey he had an awareness of and opportunity to secure some particularly worthy vintages and sometimes he took advantage of this.

The wine and the company did something to soothe his sensibilities over the unpleasantness that had occurred at dinner. He gave Mrs. Hughes a fairly full account, though he did not repeat everything Lady Edith had said, seeking to protect her feelings. It surprised him that she easily shrugged it off.

"You pay too much attention to their opinions," she said. She liked the Crawleys, and they had been especially generous today, but, as she had once put it to Mr. Carson, she didn't worship them like he did. Though she did not pursue it with him, she was perplexed at the cause of Lady Edith's outburst and wondered if Lady Mary had not said something provocative to start with. Whether he should take notice or not, Mr. Carson had a more difficult time shaking off the episode and, after all, he had borne the emotional brunt of it there in the dining room. Mrs. Hughes reached across the table and took the hand, lying there flicking in agitation, in her own. " _I've_ had the best Christmas day of my life, Mr. Carson."

Her words brought him back to the magical world that had been theirs alone for a whole twenty-four hours now. "Have you now," he said with a smile, and the warmth in his eyes covered her like a cozy blanket by the fire. She could look into them forever.

But it was difficult to get even five minutes of peace in a busy place like Downton, even after hours on Christmas night, and they were both jolted by a sudden sharp knock on the door and, at exactly the same time, the door swinging inward. And then Mr. Barrow was standing there, staring at them.

Had it been anyone else, Mr. Carson would have dropped her hand like a hot coal, but there was something about Mr. Barrow that got his back up and he found himself perversely glad that the under-butler should have chosen this moment to make an appearance. He tightened his grip on Mrs. Hughes's hand and stared at the interloper as if there was nothing amiss.

Barrow's eyes fell on their clasped hands and a smirk etched its way across his face. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything," he said, in that smarmy way he had.

Mrs. Hughes was irritated, knowing that this was precisely what Thomas had hoped to find by barging in so abruptly. She attempted to withdraw her hand, but Mr. Carson's hold on her was firm.

"Now, what would two people of our advanced age be getting up to behind the sitting room door, Mr. Barrow?" Mr. Carson sounded almost bored. "What do you want?"

The words jarred Barrow. Although he _had_ hoped to catch them at something, Mr. Carson had only given voice to what Barrow himself thought. Who could imagine something more between these two than simply holding hands? Despite his highly-developed imagination, Barrow could not. Or, at least, he would not. "Er...I only wanted to know what I should do with the remaining wine, Mr. Carson. One wouldn't want to waste what's left of that rare vintage."

"Do what you usually do with the remaining wines, Mr. Barrow," Mr. Carson said coolly. "And mind that they don't disappear between now and breakfast."

"Yes, Mr. Carson."

"And close the door after yourself and don't bother me again," he added.

When Mr. Barrow was gone and they were once more alone behind the closed door, Mrs. Hughes pulled her hand again and this time Mr. Carson released it. He looked at her, however, with a question in his eye.

"My goodness," Mrs. Hughes said, staring at him as if she didn't know him. "That was a quick comeback to Mr. Barrow's presumption."

He smiled. "He and His Lordship were the only ones whose reaction to our announcement I could really anticipate, and I knew His Lordship would be gracious about it. _Him,_ on the other hand... I was practicing that retort half the night last night. I didn't think I'd get an opportunity to use it so soon."

"And is that an accurate reflection of your feelings about 'people of our advanced age'?" Mrs. Hughes asked mischievously, and with at least a little curiosity.

"Not in the least, Mrs. Hughes," he intoned solemnly, without giving way to humour. "Not in the least."

"I might have thought you'd have spent some of last night thinking of me, rather than of Mr. Barrow," Mrs. Hughes noted, feigning a hurt air.

Mr. Carson focused a solemn gaze on her. "Safer to concentrate on how to counter Barrow, I think."

Mrs. Hughes stared at him. "If I didn't know better, I'd say that sounded a little risque, Mr. Carson."

He smiled enigmatically in response. But this only provoked her further. She opened her mouth to call him to account, and then paused, studying those expressive eyes of his for further clues. "You're having me on, aren't you?"

The smile spread and his eyes sparkled with an unfamiliar glint of mischief. "You're not the only one with a sense of humour, Mrs. Hughes."

They had barely taken two sips of their wine when there was another knock at the door.

Mr. Carson frowned fiercely. "I'll sack him!" he declared, his eyes widening with fury at Mr. Barrow's effrontery. "Come in!" he bellowed.

The door swung open partway, but it was Tom Branson's head that appeared around it.

"Mr. Carson, Mrs. Hughes. May I come in?"

"Mr. Branson." Mrs. Hughes greeted the young man warmly as both she and Mr. Carson got to their feet. Although Tom Branson had regularly discouraged them from paying him, as one of the "upstairs" family, this courtesy, neither of the senior staff members could forego it. Mr. Carson still resented it a little, as the idea of the chauffeur marrying a daughter of the family was not one to which he was ever going to become accustomed. He might not dislike Mr. Branson, indeed he did not even not like him - a distinction only the Dowager Countess really understood - but he would never approve crossing class lines in this flagrant way. Mrs. Hughes stood because it was the way things worked, and she accepted that, and doing so never caused her the emotional upheaval it did to Mr. Carson. She had liked Tom Branson when he was the chauffeur and she had continued to like him when he moved upstairs.

Tom's feelings about the couple now before him were as mixed as theirs were about him. He respected Mr. Carson, although he knew he would never gain the man's complete approbation. He liked Mrs. Hughes a great deal, reciprocating the regard she held for him. When he had been associated with the downstairs employees, he had found her friendly, firm, and fair. Not so much to his surprise as to his relief, she had proven an even more valuable ally when he had moved upstairs. He shut the door behind him that they might speak in private.

"Good evening, Mrs. Hughes, Mr. Carson. You'll know that I'm off to America in a few days, and I wanted to take the opportunity before I left to offer you my warmest congratulations on your news. I spoke to you in passing earlier, Mr. Carson, but I wanted to see Mrs. Hughes, and pay my respects to her as well, especially as we will soon be parted for a good long time."

Mrs. Hughes rewarded him with a gentle smile. "Thank you, Mr. Branson. I'll admit, I'm sorry to see you go, even though I understand your doing so. We'll miss you here, but you've fine prospects ahead of you in America, and I'm sure you'll do well."

As she spoke, she glanced at Mr. Carson, hoping that he might find it within himself to offer similarly cordial sentiments. But the look on his face was one of slight consternation, as though this were an encounter he hoped would end soon. Inwardly Mrs. Hughes sighed. On some matters this man, this man whom she loved so much, was incorrigibly close-minded. She harboured no dreams of reforming him - she didn't believe it was possible to change someone else - but she did hope that perhaps he might soften his demeanour slightly if she stared at him long enough with a reproving look on her face.

Tom Branson moved over to stand before the housekeeper. "You've been good to me, Mrs. Hughes. You were kind and welcoming in the old days and you rescued me from more than one predicament of my own making these past few years. I'll miss your wise counsel. I owe you a great deal." They exchanged knowing looks. She had held his hand when he had once been overcome by his grief for Lady Sybil, and had twice foiled plots by Edna Braithwaite, plots into which he had so foolishly fallen. And the fact that Mr. Carson was able to look at him with only faint distaste told Tom that Mrs. Hughes had never communicated the full extent of his follies to the butler. There was indeed much to be grateful for in his interactions with the housekeeper.

"Only I want to tell you that I'm very happy for you, Mrs. Hughes," Tom continued. "I'm glad that you haven't let the strictures of the system stand in the way of your happiness." He ignored the slight "harummpf!" from Mr. Carson at this blunt statement of admiration for the breaking of the rules. "I wish you both the greatest good fortune." And with those words, Tom Branson leaned forward and kissed Mrs. Hughes on the cheek. It was a bold move, but Tom felt it was warranted. How else could he show the depths of his appreciation? He knew immediately that the housekeeper was pleased by it.

"Thank you, Mr. Branson..."

"Tom," he said. "This once?"

"Tom," she said, with a very warm smile. "Thank you very much, Tom."

This exchange had not given Mr. Carson sufficient time to conceal his reaction to either the words or the deed. When Tom turned to him, there was still a look of mingled shock and dismay on that craggy countenance. Nor did he feel any discomfort at conveying his disapproval.

"Mr. Carson," Tom began forthrightly, never having been cowed by the butler's severe manner, "I want to say a proper goodbye to you as well."

The butler drew back almost imperceptibly, perhaps in anticipation of some comparably inappropriate gesture from Tom Branson directed toward him.

Tom ignored this. "I've always held you in high regard, Mr. Carson. In fact, in the time I've spent above stairs I've met few so-called 'gentlemen' who are in their nature as gentlemanly as you are."

"Well, that's very nice," Mrs. Hughes interjected with enthusiasm, certain that Mr. Carson was probably more insulted than complimented by this.

"I know I haven't always met with your approval," Tom went on, indulging in a quick smile. "You've often thought my words and my actions inappropriate."

Mr. Carson merely raised an eyebrow. Where did he start with that list? The symbolic assault on General Sir Herbert Strutt? Paying court to Lady Sybil and then marrying her? The Braithwaite indiscretions? Hardly conscious that he was doing so, Carson shook his head, as if to liberate his mind from these disturbing recollections.

Undeterred, Tom pressed ahead. "As I've nothing to lose in the matter of your good opinion, Mr. Carson, I'm going to say one more thing I'm sure you will find inappropriate."

"Please don't..."

"When I first came here," Tom went on, overriding Mr. Carson's attempted objection, "I quickly realized that there were two natural couples who had yet to find each other. One of them was Mary and Matthew..."

A disgruntled sound escaped Mr. Carson. He had never reconciled himself to Tom Branson's casual reference to Lady Mary as simply Mary. It was not done.

"The other couple was you and Mrs. Hughes. I am certain that you will find great happiness together and I want to wish you all the best." With these words, Tom held out his hand.

Mr. Carson looked at it as if Tom were offering him that soup tureen of slop he had once threatened to dump on General Strutt. But then a slight movement to his right caught his eye and he met Mrs. Hughes's penetrating gaze.

"Go on, then," she told him, saying more with her eyes than with her lightly-spoken words.

Mr. Carson sighed, closed his eyes briefly, and then took Tom's hand. "Thank you for your consideration, Mr. Branson," he intoned formally, sounding not in the least sincere. He looked relieved when Tom released him.

Tom stepped back that he might bring both of them within his line of vision. "His Lordship tells me that you've not as yet discussed where you will live once you're married. The possibilities include, I suppose, a cottage on the estate or a remodeled set of rooms in the house itself. Either way, some renovations will be necessary. I've apprised Stephens, of the estate work crew, to be prepared. He will supervise any work that must be done. I'm only sorry that I won't be here to oversee it all myself. But it will be done to your entire satisfaction or I'll know the reason why."

A look of stunned pleasure swept Mrs. Hughes's face. "That's kind of you...Tom. Very kind, indeed. _We_ ," she laid particular emphasis on the word, "are very grateful to you."

Tom grinned cheerfully. "Well, that's all then." He nodded then and ducked out of the room, closing the door firmly behind him.

A small sigh escaped Mrs. Hughes as she reached out to take the butler's hand. "For goodness sake, Mr. Carson," she said, not so much reproachfully as with resignation.

His thick eyebrows rose in indignation as he turned to her. "What are you on at me for? That was a _highly_ inappropriate thing to say! Not least about Lady Mary, but to make such a remark, to have _thought_ such a thing about us! And then ... _kissing_ you..."

Mrs. Hughes steadied herself with her grip on his hand and reached up to silence his outburst with a quick kiss. She had caught him off guard and he was still trying to sort out the contradictions of pleasure and propriety by the time she was moving away again.

"Well," he said, having no answer to that.

She let go of his hand and gestured to their usual chairs and the table between them, on which their glasses and half the bottle of wine remained. "I'll always have a soft spot for him," she said mildly, taking up her glass.

Deciding that discretion was the better part of valour at this point, Mr. Carson chose not to reply.


	10. Chapter 10: Lady Edith's Consolation

**Lady Edith's Consolation**

It was a bit of a relief to Mrs. Hughes that Boxing Day morning unfolded as days usually did at Downton. She had never known exhilaration such as she had experienced this Christmas and she would treasure every part of it - especially that magical moment on Christmas Eve... _I do want to be stuck with you_ \- forever. But there was something to be said for the ordinary magic of everyday life, too. This morning was the first time she had been able to sit down at breakfast with Mr. Carson and show, in frequent glances and casual, if incidental, touches of hands in the passing of toast or tea cups, some measure of the feelings she had for him. To the outside observer, nothing had changed, for they were no more demonstrative than they ever had been. For them, however, even mundane ritual was now invested with intimacy.

But there was still a house to run and maids to manage, and so Mrs. Hughes found herself in mid-morning on the gallery, checking up on the maids' progress and ensuring that standards had not declined since her inspection the day before. And they might have done so, because heaven knows she couldn't even remember doing this yesterday morning, although she had.

In Lady Edith's room she found some bed corners that failed to meet her expectations and adjusted them, making a mental note to review procedures with the maids. Mrs. Hughes had no time for sloppy work. As she straightened up from this task, she found herself looking at Lady Edith herself, who had appeared silently in the doorway while she had been at work.

"Good morning, Mrs. Hughes." Ordinarily the family made themselves scarce at this time of day, honouring the ritual that had servants go about their work in ways that made the downstairs personnel invisible to the upstairs residents.

"Good day, my lady." Assuming that this was an accidental encounter, Mrs. Hughes nodded politely and made to leave the room. She was surprised when Lady Edith spoke again.

"Mrs. Hughes, I want to extend my congratulations to you on your engagement to Carson. Happy news. I'm pleased for you."

They were very different young women, but in Lady Edith's halting words Mrs. Hughes heard a sort of echo of Lady Mary's wishes the morning before. They said essentially the same thing and each had sounded a little unsure of themselves. Lady Mary's lack of assuredness arose, Mrs. Hughes believed, from the emotional impact the news had had on her and on her difficulty in expressing what she had wanted to communicate about Mr. Carson. Lady Edith's hesitation, she suspected, reflected both a general lack of confidence and some lingering discomfort over the unpleasant scene at the dinner table the night before. Mrs. Hughes was largely indifferent to that incident and had it never been referred to again, it would have slipped easily from her mind. It just wasn't that important to her.

"Thank you, my lady," she said automatically, as she had to Lady Edith's sister. Yesterday Lady Mary's congratulations had been just the opening salvo in the conversation and Mrs. Hughes had known there was more to come. Lady Edith's remarks, on the other hand, were the perfunctory social grace in such situations, and Mrs. Hughes, thinking the exchange over, again moved toward the door.

Lady Edith shifted to one side that the housekeeper might pass her, but as Mrs. Hughes approached, she spoke again abruptly. "I wonder if you would mind ... Do you have a minute, Mrs. Hughes? I should very much like to speak to you about something."

For a moment, Mrs. Hughes thought that Lady Edith was going to raise a housekeeping matter, but the young woman's agitation put her wise to the fact that there was something else here.

Lady Edith _was_ agitated and for a number of reasons. Christmas Day had _not_ been what she had hoped, and instead of meeting her expectations of a wonderful family day in which she, with her daughter, might play a full part, it had crashed her dreams, showing her more clearly than ever what an outsider she was, and Marigold with her. She had let her distraction over this and her always potent aggravation with Mary govern her response to the announcement of Carson's and Mrs. Hughes's engagement and she had said several things she wished she had not. And then her conversation with Tom had kept her awake half the night as she considered his insights and how they applied to her own situation and weighed on her conscience.

She had never had a personal conversation with any of the servants apart from Anna, and even then had never really indulged in serious confidences, believing that Anna's first allegiance lay with Mary. She knew it would be a breach of convention, and a highly unwelcome one, to engage Mrs. Hughes in such a conversation. But she was convinced that the housekeeper was the only person in the house at the moment with whom she could in fact discuss the question that was eating away at her, and this desperation led her to press the boundaries.

"Is there something I can help you with, my lady?" Mrs. Hughes spoke in what she might call the warmer version of her official voice. Mrs. Hughes neither liked nor disliked Lady Edith Crawley. She did feel sorry for her. Things seldom went right for Lady Edith, and when they went wrong, they went wrong on a grand scale.

"I have a question for you, Mrs. Hughes, but it's...well, it's ... something I think you can tell me, and ... I don't want you to think I'm being rude. It's only that you're the best person I can think of to ask about it." Lady Edith suppressed a cry and bolted past Mrs. Hughes into the room, and dropped onto the bed. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Hughes," she said, trying to contain her agitation. "Perhaps ... no, I shouldn't be bothering you. I'm very sorry."

Now Mrs. Hughes was intrigued. This didn't really sound like anything she wanted to get into, but, on the other hand, Lady Edith was overwrought, even for Lady Edith, and she didn't like to walk away from her in that state. And she was curious as to how she, specifically, might be able to help. So she walked over to where Lady Edith sat. "If there's anything I can do to help you, my lady, I would gladly do so."

The young woman tried to pull herself together. The opportunity was in her hands. "I'd like to ask you something, Mrs. Hughes, but I'm afraid it may be too personal, and I don't want to offend you. But know, please, that I'm only asking because I think you may be able to help me. And if it's too much, then," she held up her hands, "just say so and ..."

 _Even more interesting_ , Mrs. Hughes thought to herself. "I will do my best, my lady."

Swallowing hard, Lady Edith took a deep breath and then shifted so that she might meet the housekeeper's eyes. "It's something Mr. Branson said to me last night, about you and Carson."

The emotional outpouring of the past two days was a once-in-a-lifetime aberration for Mrs. Hughes, who was known for her taciturn disposition. Her poker face was on display now as she pondered what Tom Branson could possibly have said that might so affect Lady Edith. It wouldn't have been anything negative, that she was sure of, not from him. And she suspected that the significance attached to it by Lady Edith had probably gone unnoticed by Mr. Branson. And all that to say that she was getting _curiouser and curiouser_.

"Go on, my lady."

"He said that you ... well, that you've cared for each other for years and that you didn't act upon your feelings because of the general social prohibition against domestic servants marrying."

Mrs. Hughes stifled an impulse to smile as she recalled Mr. Branson's remark in a similar vein to herself and Mr. Carson the night before. She didn't blame him for saying something of the sort in a conversation in the family. Her engagement to Mr. Carson had been a surprise to them all upstairs - and to few downstairs, as it happened - and they would naturally talk about it. She thought this particular exchange must have been a private one between Mr. Branson and Lady Edith, else Mr. Carson would have reported it, too.

"That is ... close enough to the truth, my lady," Mrs. Hughes said cautiously, in response to Lady Edith's inquiring look.

Encouraged, Lady Edith pressed ahead. "I was only wondering, Mrs. Hughes... " She paused and then, as if it could not be suppressed, blurted, "How did you bear it? Was it not difficult ... loving someone ... and not being able to have the ... proper relationship because society or other people wouldn't allow it?"

It was a painful appeal, and one that did intrude on personal matters. Mrs. Hughes said nothing for a moment and her silence cracked the fragile confidence with which Lady Edith had advanced her questions. She retreated with alacrity.

"I'm so sorry, Mrs. Hughes. I should never have transgressed. Please, forgive me."

This quick collapse distracted the housekeeper who held out a hand to forestall Lady Edith's tortured retraction. "A minute, please, my lady. Don't worry yourself. I'm not offended. I just have to think." She meant it. She needed to give the matters Lady Edith had raised some consideration and she began to chew on her lower lip, a reflex action that reflected serious thought.

It was an axiom of domestic service that the servants knew all the secrets of the house. Some servants knew more than others and at Downton Abbey, Mrs. Hughes sat at the top of that pyramid. Among the servants, she was the den mother, the one to whom they took their troubles or brought their confidences, or the one who found them out. And she knew a lot about the Crawleys, too. This came in part from confidences imparted there, too, although to a lesser degree. Mostly it was the result of keen observation combined with a sophisticated appreciation for how the world worked. And in the past two years Mrs. Hughes had noticed some things about Lady Edith and over time put them together in a coherent pattern that left her in no doubt about the nature and extent of the most serious indiscretion in the house since Lady Mary entertained the Turkish gentleman in her bedroom. Lady Edith had had an affair with the journalist Michael Gregson and borne his child, a little golden-haired girl who now resided in the Downton nursery as a ward of the family and in whom Lady Edith took an especial interest. Mrs. Hughes did not know this for certain but, as she might have put it in a casual conversation on this subject, if she were the type to converse about such things, _she could add two and two together_. There was strong evidence to support all of this, but she had not as yet been privy to any overt statement of the fact made either to her or within her hearing by anyone in the know. But she knew it all the same. And so she realized that Lady Edith was not at all interested in the personal details of her own relationship with Mr. Carson, which was just as well, because she was right there, it _was_ none of her business. Lady Edith was only looking for some model that she might follow in her own proscribed relationship with the child she could not claim as her own. And she had fixed on Mrs. Hughes as the only person in the house who fit that description. And who better? Although almost immediately it came to Mrs. Hughes that Lady Edith could as well have asked Thomas. Had she been anywhere else, she would have laughed aloud at that thought. Mr. Carson would have fits at the idea of their relationship being in any way comparable to anything Thomas did.

"I think I understand what you're asking about, my lady. And I don't see it as rudeness or any kind of transgression. I believe I can answer your question."

The transformation these words wrought on Lady Edith's face almost made this uncomfortable conversation worthwhile. Her expression shifted from somewhat remorseful and rather desperate, to grateful and hopeful. Her large fine eyes, wet with tears of sadness, brightened. "Thank you, Mrs. Hughes. And please..." Suddenly she gained a different perspective on the person before her and how the context of their conversation had affected their interaction, "...sit down. There." She pointed to the chair by the writing desk and herself moved to the other side of the bed that they might sit more closely together.

"Do you mind if I close the door, my lady?" Mrs. Hughes asked. The maids were still about on the gallery somewhere and you never knew when Mr. Carson, or worse, Mr. Barrow might be strolling by. Mr. Carson might take exception to her having a casual chat with one of the family about personal matters. Mr. Barrow would lurk about unseen and take mental notes for future reference.

"Of course," Lady Edith said hastily, alarmed that she had overlooked this herself.

Mrs. Hughes proceeded with care. She wanted to offer Lady Edith some support for her position without revealing her knowledge of that position, but also to draw both the appropriate distinctions and similarities between the two situations. "The development of affections between myself and Mr. Carson was not a precipitous event, my lady. It happened over time. We both knew what we were committing ourselves to when we entered service, or thought we did anyway. We accepted the conditions and that was that. But abstract knowledge isn't very useful where feelings are concerned. When that happens, at some point you have to make a decision. For a long time we might have believed ... intuitively, innately, not explicitly, my lady, this was not something Mr. Carson and I ever discussed..."

"I understand."

"... that there was no realistic possibility of ... pursuing a relationship and remaining employed in positions we both liked and which gave our lives such stability."

"You would sacrifice yourself to this half-life for your _jobs_?" Lady Edith could not contain her incredulity.

Mrs. Hughes sighed inwardly. This was the voice of youth and privilege speaking. The young embraced the view of all or nothing, that no alternative could possibly have intrinsic value. And only a person who had never had to work for a living could be so dismissive of employment as a factor in decision-making.

"We went another way, my lady," Mrs. Hughes responded temperately. "Mr. Carson and I have been the best of friends for a long time. That's been a treasure all in itself."

"I see." Lady Edith looked like she was trying to understand but couldn't quite get there. "But you have chosen to challenge the rules now," she said.

"We have," Mrs. Hughes acknowledged.

"Why now? Something must have changed, because here you are."

"Well, as it happens, my lady, _lots_ of things changed. We ourselves are much older. There is less to risk. If we met with opposition at this point, then we could retire and leave it behind. And then society changed around us, my lady. What was not possible in 1914 _is_ possible in 1924. His Lordship and Her Ladyship welcomed our news yesterday. I doubt the Dowager Lady Grantham will _ever_ accept it." That evoked an understanding laugh from Lady Edith. "And Mr. Carson changed, too," Mrs. Hughes added, a little more reflectively. "And I'm not sure I can account for _that_."

Lady Edith smiled briefly at this last remark. "I'm glad he did, Mrs. Hughes. It was a very brave decision on your part. It's still an uncommon event."

"Very uncommon, my lady," Mrs. Hughes agreed. "We're very fortunate in our employers."

"So...," Lady Edith was struggling to capture the essence of their conversation, "so you see wisdom in accepting the rules, in _playing the game_ , then, Mrs. Hughes."

"To a point, my lady. I suppose what I'm really saying is that there are alternatives even within the system. And just because the path you end up on isn't the one you may originally have wanted or foreseen for yourself, doesn't mean that you can't get a lot of joy and fulfilment out of it. I have."

They sat in silence for a moment as Lady Edith digested this. It was not the answer she might have hoped for, but it was not unhelpful. Mrs. Hughes thought that Lady Edith was looking for ways to cope with the reality in which she lived and hoped that the awareness of a model of difference would in itself be comforting to her. _We went another way, Mr. Carson and I_ , Mrs. Hughes said to herself. _And would I really erase all that we've known together to do it differently_? Mrs. Hughes was not sure she would.

Lady Edith took a deep breath and turned a somewhat more composed countenance toward the housekeeper. "I was inexcusably rude to Carson last night, Mrs. Hughes, and insensitive to the joy of your news. I'm sorry for that, truly I am. And I will apologize to Carson at the first opportunity. It's stupid to admit, but I'm afraid I've never really seen him as a separate person, but rather as an extension of Lady Mary."

"They are close," Mrs. Hughes said circumspectly.

"How do you stand it?"

Mrs. Hughes was not surprised by the vehemence of Lady Edith's question. They were sisters, Lady Edith and Lady Mary, and maybe somewhere deep down there was some degree of affection for each other, but Mrs. Hughes had never seen any evidence of it. "My lady?"

"Mary and Carson, the fact that they have the relationship that they do. _Doesn't it bother you?_ " It was a mark of Lady Edith's distraction that she neglected to use the formal address for her sister.

"Not a bit, my lady." Mrs. Hughes could say this in all sincerity. "It's part of who Mr. Carson is."

"But why does he care for her? She's not even very nice to him. She takes him for granted. She imposes on him without any thought for his interests. Do you remember when she wanted to drag him off to Haxby when she was going to marry Sir Richard Carlisle? It never even occurred to her that he might say no, or that he might not be willing to sacrifice for her sake the life he had built at Downton. And she's indifferent to his existence for months on end and only goes running to him for comfort when everyone else has let her down. And when he's picked up the pieces for her, I doubt she ever even says thank you." Lady Edith appeared to have made a rather fine study of the whole thing.

This was, in Mrs. Hughes's view, a fairly accurate assessment of Lady Mary's treatment of Mr. Carson. She was only surprised that Lady Edith had noticed it, too. But it didn't take everything into account. "Mr. Carson has loved Lady Mary from the first time he set eyes on her as a wee babe," Mrs. Hughes said. "He's loved her like she was his own ever since."

" _What did you say?_ "

Mrs. Hughes paused. She wasn't certain why Lady Edith spoke so sharply. Did she think Mrs. Hughes had stepped beyond acceptable bounds in presuming a relationship for Mr. Carson that he ought not have aspired to? Or was it something else? She took a deep breath and decided that the reason they were having this conversation at all was because Lady Edith was grasping at straws for some kind of relief from her own personal turmoil. If that were the case, then Mrs. Hughes thought she might have some small solace to offer.

"If I may say so, my lady," she began carefully, "I believe that had Fortune seen fit to leave Lady Mary fatherless, she would not have wanted for a father's love with Mr. Carson in her life."

"What are you saying?" There was no jagged edge of shock this time, but rather the more finely-honed blade of desperation. Lady Edith's eyes were wide with an almost heart-breaking need for some kind of life-line.

 _This is a pretty picture_ , Mrs. Hughes said to herself. She could never have imagined how a conversation about her engagement to Mr. Carson could be transformed into life lessons for Lady Edith. But she did have some wisdom to impart, in the end, and she was glad to have the opportunity to give this young woman some encouragement. And in an odd way she was, in fact, the person in this house best placed to do so. Lady Edith had somehow discerned this, without knowing how well she had chosen.

"A man doesn't have to have fathered a child to love a child," she said gently.

Their eyes met. Mrs. Hughes maintained a steady gaze as Lady Edith searched for ... something. She hoped she was telling Lady Edith that she knew and that, as far as Mrs. Hughes was concerned, it didn't matter.

Lady Edith gave a little shiver. A ray of hope filtered through her stormy countenance, though it was still tinged with trepidation. "But are there very many men like that, do you think?"

Mrs. Hughes shrugged. "Well, I'd like to say that Mr. Carson is unique, my lady, and I'm sure _he'd_ like to think so. And he does have a great heart, I can't deny him that. But I think there are other men who could manage it and they're not quite so rare as we might think."

Great tears flooded Lady Edith's eyes at this and spilled down her cheeks. She dropped her head a little and looked away, but made no attempt to stem the flow. But the tragic air that had hovered over her at the beginning of this conversation appeared to have lifted, at least a little. "Thank you," she whispered.

Mrs. Hughes stood up to go. Her work here was done. "Is there anything else, my lady?" she asked, in a kind voice.

Lady Edith stood up, too, and made an effort to regain her composure, though the tears still stood out on her cheeks.

"I'm happy for you, Mrs. Hughes, truly happy. And ... I think it's lovely that you and Carson are going to marry and be happy together in a ... different way in the future. Even so, it's stupid that we've allowed _rules_ to interfere with your lives in this manner. I'm going to write a column for _The Sketch_ on this iniquitous tradition. In general terms," she added hastily, to reassure Mrs. Hughes. She took a deep breath. "And I'm very sorry, too, that you have had to put up with it for so long and that ... well, that _I_ , for one, never noticed. You've opened my eyes a little, Mrs. Hughes."

Mrs. Hughes gave her a perfunctory smile. "Well, we got there in the end, my lady. And the timing is really quite good. It will distract Mr. Carson when Mr. Branson leaves on Tuesday and takes Miss Sybbie with him. Mr. Carson's going to miss that little girl. He likes to have a little girl to fuss over."

Let Lady Edith make what she would of that. Mrs. Hughes nodded and left the room.

 **Little Girls**

As the family drifted off to their rooms for the night, Lady Edith approached Mr. Carson.

"Carson, might I speak with you for a moment?"

This unexpected request from an unlikely source stirred Mr. Carson from his own thoughts. He was glad they were retiring a little early this evening as this would give him more time for an important conversation with Mrs. Hughes. But he felt no irritation at Lady Edith's diversion in itself. Serving the family's needs was his _raison d'être._ But he was a little surprised that she should approach him after that _contretemps_ of the previous evening. He assumed his conventional facade of dispassion and responded to her as he always did.

"My lady," he said, with a courteous nod. "How may I help you?"

She drew him off a little that they might stand in a corner of the great hall. Mr. Carson did not find this strange. Although he did not have much to do with Lady Edith, still there were tasks he might take on at her direction and he only waited for her to tell him what it was she wanted him to do. He was slightly taken aback when she fixed on him an intense but staggeringly vulnerable gaze.

"I want to apologize to you, Carson. I was abominably rude to you last night. I was distracted and immersed in my own selfish concerns. That is no excuse whatsoever for bad manners. And what I said was not a reflection of my real feelings either. In truth, I couldn't be happier for you and Mrs. Hughes." She had been practicing this speech on and off all day. But the sentiment beneath the polished delivery was sincere and Lady Edith's face was radiant with the good wishes her words conveyed.

Caught wholly unawares by this unexpected declaration, Mr. Carson was speechless for a moment. He quickly regained his composure. "Not at all, my lady. I mean...thank you for your kind words. And there is no need to apologize for anything." He said this as a matter of course but he was in fact pleased by Lady Edith's contrition. Her caustic words of the previous night had not cut him personally, but he had been shocked by her rudeness and had told Mrs. Hughes so. But a sincere apology wiped away all sins.

"Yes, there is. There is always a need for an apology when one has behaved badly," Lady Edith said with feeling.

He did not disagree. "Thank you, my lady."

That should have been it. They had reached the limits of their always limited relationship. But Lady Edith was seized with a sudden impulse. "I'm just going to go up and check on the children before I retire. Would you like to accompany me, Carson?"

It was an unusual request but one that appealed to Mr. Carson. "I would," he said congenially.

She indicated that he should come with her up the grand staircase and he did. This was not as unusual for the butler as it would have been for other members of the staff, but Mr. Carson did not take advantage of his entitlements and so rarely used these stairs unless he was accompanying a family member.

The three children - Sybbie, George, and Marigold - were all asleep in their beds, dreaming the sweet dreams of children still caught up in the magic of Christmas. Lady Edith went immediately to Marigold's bedside to tuck in the blankets the child had already tossed off. When she looked up she saw Mr. Carson standing beside Sybbie's bed, the light bending in through the half-open doorway catching the glint of wetness in his eye. Lady Edith caught her breath at the sight of this.

"I shall miss you very much, little miss," he said softly, his smile tinged with sadness. Then he turned around to the child in the next bed and his expression changed as his eyes fell on little George, tangled in his bedsheets, his feet where his head should have been. Mr. Carson looked up then to catch Lady Edith's eye and shook his head even as his sadness faded to indulgent amusement. He swiftly rearranged George and set the bedclothes to rights. "Boys!" he said, as he moved over to stand by Lady Edith.

They stood together for a moment and Mr. Carson's attention drifted back to Sybbie, who slept on, blissfully unaware of their presence. "She reminds me of her mother, of course," Mr. Carson said unexpectedly, his voice a low rumble rich with feeling. "And she _was_ a delight, Lady Sybil. Always so determined to set everything right, to fix the hurts of the world, even as a child." His gaze shifted to Lady Edith, though he still seemed a little far away. "But I see her father in her, too, and that's not _entirely_ a bad thing." He might have been trying to convince himself.

Lady Edith wasn't sure whether he was making a joke or not. It occurred to her for the first time that Sybil's death had had significant emotional reverberations downstairs as well. Why had she never realized this? And then she saw his eyes fall to where Marigold lay, curled up just within their reach.

"She's a dear little thing, Miss Marigold is," he said, and his voice had softened again. "Those little red-gold curls, and the bright, inquisitive eyes on her. And she is fortunate to have you for a mother, my lady."

"What?" Lady Edith was shocked. She stared in alarm at Mr. Carson who turned to her with a puzzled look on his face, not understanding her response.

"You don't have to have given birth to love a child as a mother does," he explained kindly. "I have watched you with her, my lady."

It was the complement to Mrs. Hughes's statement earlier in the day about fathers. Then, Lady Edith had had the distinct impression that Mrs. Hughes knew exactly of what she spoke. Assuming that the two staff members, as best friends or incipient lovers, confided extensively in each other, she wondered whether they had already reviewed that conversation and Mr. Carson was here deliberately making reference to it.

But, no. Lady Edith trusted to Mrs. Hughes's discretion. And Mr. Carson was looking at her now with eyes innocent of the truth in his initial assertion. His remark was an inadvertent echo of Mrs. Hughes's not because they had discussed what she had said, but because they thought so much alike. Lady Edith felt a sudden, largely benign, pang of envy. How lovely to be in such communion with one another!

They left the children then and went out onto the gallery.

"Is there anything else I may do for you, my lady?" Mr. Carson was his professional self again.

Lady Edith was not quite ready to let this conversation end. "You're quite fond of Miss Sybbie then," she said.

He nodded. "I am," he admitted. "I've been susceptible, I think, ever since I first gave my heart to a little girl many years ago." And he glowed unselfconsciously with the pride and affection that was second nature to him where Lady Mary was concerned.

For the first time in her life, Lady Edith did not feel the bile rising in her throat when she thought of Mary and Carson. "And she was a very lucky little girl, Carson," she said.


	11. Chapter 11: Mrs Charlie Carson

**Mrs. Charlie Carson**

It was Boxing Day night, forty-eight hours since they had met in Mr. Carson's office and had the conversation that had changed their lives. And yet the old habits persisted. Mrs. Hughes was tidying up her desk when there was a tap at the door and she saw Mr. Carson standing there. She expected to see him with the usual sherry and glasses, but instead he held a small ledger, a few envelopes stuffed with papers, and some stray pages.

"May I come in, Mrs. Hughes?" As always, he observed the formalities.

She smiled and gestured to their usual habitat, the small side table and the chairs on either side of it. He nodded in acknowledgment, moved into the room, nudged the door closed with one foot, and put the material down on the table. Watching him with newly aware eyes, Mrs. Hughes was taken by what a graceful man he was. He was really quite attractive and she felt an impulse to kiss him and moved forward to do just that. He turned around just as she came up to him, and he appeared to divine her intention instantly. And he stepped back.

Mrs. Hughes stopped abruptly. He turned his head just a little to the side, as if away from her, though his eyes met hers. With an exasperated sigh, she moved back and was even more annoyed to see him relax a little.

"What is it?" She let a note of irritation slip into her words.

He straightened up again. "I do not think that we ought to let our understanding alter the form of our interactions on a regular basis, Mrs. Hughes."

What a convoluted mouthful. "Why not?" she demanded.

He seemed puzzled that she should challenge him on this. "I think it may appear unseemly," he said.

"How?" She was still perplexed. "We're engaged to be married. I think it's legal."

"We need to maintain a sense of decorum in our place of work," he attempted.

She stared at him for a minute and then rolled her eyes and flung herself down in the chair on _her_ side of the table. "I wasn't proposing world revolution, Mr. Carson. I only thought that after a long day's work I might enjoy a _chaste_ kiss with the man I'm going to marry."

He did not sit. Instead, he shifted uncomfortably before her. He could tell that she was unhappy and this troubled him. Perhaps he could explain. "I am not ... insensible to or... undesiring of... the physical pleasures of ... love..., Mrs. Hughes." The colour rose in his face as he stumbled his way through this and had she not thought him unbearably pompous in this minute, she might have smiled indulgently. Mr. Carson was trying to have his cake and eat it, too. "But ..." Suddenly he seemed to come to himself and stood taller and assumed a posture more in keeping with Downton Abbey's regal butler. "But I like to do things properly," he said firmly, "and I won't apologize for that."

His words only incensed Mrs. Hughes. "And I don't?!" Her eyes blazed and for the first time since their relationship had changed, Mr. Carson felt the heat of _her_ fury.

He winced. "That's not what I meant."

"Well, it's what you said!" She crossed her arms in a pose that conveyed a distinct coolness toward him.

For a long moment, neither of them moved. She stared across the room at her desk and wondered whether she should go back to it and finish the accounts that she'd put away that she might spend some time with him. Or perhaps she should just go up to bed. Maybe he would be more affectionate in her dreams.

Mr. Carson was in a quandary. He did, indeed, feel very uncomfortable about showing her any affection in their workplace, and he had his reasons. It was unprofessional. Were the butler and the housekeeper to begin kissing and hand-holding and whispering sweet nothings in the passage, then everyone would soon be doing it and the place would look like a county dance instead of a place of business. Of even more importance, such behaviour would undermine their authority, his in particular. He could not be seen to be so susceptible to his feelings. No one would take him seriously. His authority in the servants' hall was that of a benevolent autocrat, with emphasis on the noun rather than the adjective. He also believed that intimacy between himself and Mrs. Hughes ought to be private, for their own sakes, not something open to the scrutiny of others. He thought she would understand all that, or some of it anyway, and abide by it.

And yet she was unhappy. She was bolder than he was, he knew. She would say _Let them look on_ , and not care that they did. But was he really wrong?

He was uneasy standing there and he did not know whether he should stay or collect his papers and go, and leave the conversation he had intended to have for another night. But he did not want to part from her on a sour note. It had been only two days since she had agreed to marry him. Shouldn't the honeymoon have lasted a little longer? He knew already there was only one way to resolve this and that he must take the initiative.

"All right," he said heavily, trying to catch her eye. "Before we go up, at the end of the evening, and _only_ if there's no one else around."

This did get her attention. Her head turned and she fastened an icy glare on him. "And that's your idea of a concession?"

His shoulders slumped and he looked away in unhappy resignation.

But, of course, it _was_ his idea of a concession and Mrs. Hughes recognized it. "All right," she said, giving in and lightening her tone. "It's a deal." She didn't think it was much of a deal, but it was clearly as much as she was going to get. It was her policy to make the best of things. He looked up quickly and she smiled at him. "You drive a hard bargain, Charlie Carson, but... Oh, dear, have I transgressed again!" And her voice turned from conciliation to exasperation.

When she said his name, he blanched, although he recovered more quickly this time. "Am I not to call you by your name either?" she demanded.

"Well, not _here_!" he said, his eyes round with indignation.

" _Mr. Carson_ ," she said, with a broadly sarcastic inflection, "we _are_ only here. There _is_ no anywhere else for us."

He did not want a second round of confrontation. "There's the house," he said mildly. The house he had bought for _them._ The house that had given him the excuse, or perhaps the courage, to propose _marriage_.

"All right," she said swiftly, soothingly. She wondered what he thought she wanted to do that they needed to decamp to the house to do it. And then she wondered about why he needed to go several miles from Downton just to kiss her. It was too complicated to unravel now. "We just won't take up _that_ issue for the moment." She didn't want to argue with him either. "Sit down and tell me why you've brought in a great stack of papers instead of a nice bottle of sherry."

Mr. Carson sat down in his usual place but he did not take up the papers. Instead, he folded his hands in his lap and sat with his head down for a moment. "I don't like the name Charlie," he said, after a while. "It reminds me of Charlie Grigg and of a time and a life that I would rather not remember."

She decided not to pursue the argument that as it was a part of his life he'd do better accepting it, than running away from it. There were other matters she wanted to discuss this evening. But... "Didn't your mother call you Charlie?" she asked, speaking more gently. She could not imagine anyone calling a little boy Charles, outside of the royal family perhaps.

"Yes."

"And didn't you like it then?"

He shrugged, still looking at his hands.

"I like it a lot, Mr. Carson," she said softly. "It suits you."

A more comfortable silence descended upon them.

"So tell me what's in your papers, then," Mrs. Hughes said, indicating the ledger.

This was apparently a sound suggestion, for he revived a little and turned in his chair to face her.

"These are my financial papers," he said, tapping them with a finger. "I think it's important to lay out my financial affairs so that you have an idea what you're getting into."

She looked into his earnest countenance and smiled. "I'm still going to marry you even if I discover you're not rich, Mr. Carson."

"Well, I'm glad of it, Mrs. Hughes, because I'm not. But I think we'll be on fairly sound financial ground. I wanted to show you what there is - bank account, investment portfolio, retirement scheme - that you will be clear on it all. You should be familiar with it so that you can make decisions about it, should the need arise."

"I'm sure there's plenty of time to deal with these things, Mr. Carson," she said complacently. "It's only been two days."

He shook his head, disagreeing. "It's important to get everything in order. First, I want to go over it with you and then I shall go promptly to the bank and make sure that your name is included on all the documents and accounts so that in the event of any catastrophic development, you may be assured of stability."

This sounded a bit unsettling. "Is there something you're not telling me, Mr. Carson? Are you unwell?" She did wonder.

Now, he looked exasperated. "Everything is fine, Mrs. Hughes. Unlike you, I would not conceal such fundamental matters as the state of _my_ health." It still rankled him that she had not wanted to confide in him when she'd had that cancer scare.

That was a provocative statement, but Mrs. Hughes decided it was not a battle worth fighting. "All right, then. So what's the hurry? If you change everything before we're married, won't you have to change it all over again when I've got your name?"

A sudden smile traversed his face. "That'll be nice, won't it? _Mrs. Carson_ ," he said in a deliberate tone. "I like the sound of that."

"Mrs. _Charlie_ Carson," she said, because it was in her nature to stir the pot every once in a while.

He gave her a look.

"I want there to be no doubt about these things," he said seriously, "just in case. I believe in ..."

"... _doing things properly_. Yes, I know, Mr. Carson."

They spent the next half hour reviewing his finances. It did not surprise him at all that Mrs. Hughes rapidly digested the contents and asked pertinent questions. She had a fine head for figures and considerable book-keeping experience of her own from years of household management. She complimented him on the soundness and diversity of his investments and was impressed with the frugality that had allowed him to save quite a bit. She was not surprised by the careful management he had exercised in his affairs. He, too, had considerable professional experience with accounts. And although he had spent more than she had on what might be called frivolous expenses in casual clothing, wine, and books, his expenditures were only notable in comparison to her own very meagre outlay.

"I've taken the liberty of drawing up a draft budget," he said, after they had dispensed with the formal papers. He produced a sheet of paper with headings for monthly and weekly expenses, indicating where it was possible to do so, specific amounts. In some he had written estimates with a question mark. Still others were _only_ question marks.

Mrs. Hughes's practiced eye ran down the list.

"I don't know why you're showing me _this_ ," she said. "It's all your business, not mine. You know I bring next to nothing in the way of money to this marriage." Her eye caught on one of the items lacking a fixed figure. _Becky_. She glanced up at him, frowning slightly, and started to chew on her lower lip.

They had not spoken of her sister recently. After she had confided in him the fact of Becky's existence, in that depressing conversation where she had had to own up that she had no money and thus could not participate in his scheme to invest in property together, he had made a few perfunctory inquiries about her sister. She had answered him, but kept the details to a minimum and conveyed by her manner that this was not a topic she wanted to discuss at length. He had desisted.

"Why's this here?" she asked, pointing to Becky's name.

He glanced at the sheet. "Because your sister's care is one of the expenses of our household." He looked at her without understanding. It seemed obvious to him.

"That's something _I_ pay for," Mrs. Hughes said. "And, unfortunately, it eats up almost all of my salary, leaving me almost nothing to contribute to the rest of these." This was a bitter admission for her. She was an independent woman. She had supported herself all her life and, for a large part of her working life, her sister as well. It had meant a highly circumscribed existence and a very creative management of accounts, but she had scraped by. She was accustomed to pulling her weight. It shamed her to think she had nothing to bring to the financial aspect of the marriage. She would be dependent on him and that was not something she welcomed, even though she knew it would not deter her from taking that step. She wanted to marry Mr. Carson, even if doing so meant that she would not be his equal in this. The inequity might have repercussions for other aspects of their relationship as well. She didn't know.

"No."

That single word, spoken with a firmness Mrs. Hughes was familiar with as the official voice of Mr. Carson, the butler of Downton Abbey, sharply drew her attention. They had been leaning over the table in their discussion of finances, but now he was sitting up straight and his bearing was suddenly much more formal.

She gave him a puzzled look. "What do you mean, _no_?"

"No," he said again, in the same tone.

"What are you referring to, Mr. Carson? I don't understand."

He reached out and took the budget paper from her. He put it down on the table between them and rapped it with his knuckles. "This is a budget for _our_ household, Mrs. Hughes. It includes all the expenses that _we_ have. Or, at least, all those that I have knowledge of at this point. Your sister ... _Becky_ ," he softened his voice and his expression softened, too, as he spoke her name. He was trying to convey that he thought of Becky as a real person, not an accounting item. "... or rather, her care, is an expense that we will share, as we will everything else. It is my view that we ought, both of us, to contribute to each of the items I have listed here in proportion to our income. Naturally, as I have the larger salary..."

 _A much larger salary_ , Mrs. Hughes thought, unable to suppress this brief digression.

"...I shall shoulder the greater portion. But we shall both contribute insofar as it is in our means to do so. We are entering into a partnership, Mrs. Hughes - at least, that is my understanding of marriage - and from where I sit, it is a partnership of equals."

Had he read her mind?

Mr. Carson wondered how she could have thought otherwise. Had they not worked together for years? each managing their side of the household with comparable duties of managing accounts, supervising staff, ensuring order? His position might have been ranked higher than hers, his the place of ultimate responsibility, but that was the nature of an estate. Somebody had to be in charge. He did not see a marriage that involved only two people as an hierarchical institution.

She stared into those great dark eyes and saw swirling in them the depths of emotion she had known there two nights ago on the happiest night of her life.

"But ... Becky is _my_ sister," she said feebly, not sure why she was protesting.

He nodded. "And she shall be _my_ sister-in-law," he said calmly. And then he gave her a look that suggested he wondered about her good sense. "A man with anything to recommend him at all embraces responsibility for those he loves, Mrs. Hughes. And I, for one," he added, with a pointed reference, "believe there are many ways to demonstrate that love, physical affection being only one of them."

Tears filled her eyes. She had been hounding him about the obvious and he, all the while, was operating on a much more subtle, and substantial, plane.

"And I want, as soon as possible, to add a codicil to my will, establishing a trust fund for Becky, as well. In the event that something happens to us, we will want to make sure that her care is addressed permanently."

That warmed her heart more than she could say, but her practical mind caught on the details. "What about me?" she asked, in an almost joking manner.

"Such an adjustment is unnecessary at this point," he said, shifting a bit and looking away.

"Why?" Until they were married, she would have no claim on his estate, yet he was in a flurry to ensure Becky's security.

He simply stared at her, his gaze intense with a meaning she did not quite grasp. The look on his face reminded her of their conversation on Christmas Eve: _That's the point_ , he had said. And she, not daring to make a leap of faith, had obliged him to spell it out for her.

"What do you mean?" she asked, her brow furrowed in bewilderment, although she thought maybe she did know.

"Well, who else was I going to leave it all to?" he asked quietly. His eyes, filled with longing, told her something she had not yet fully assimilated about how long he had loved her.

Unnerved by the way she continued to stare at him in that guarded way, not giving way to her feelings, his eyes dropped, wandered the room, and then shifted back hesitantly. He did not know what to expect.

Mrs. Hughes realized that this was a moment for action.

"Stand up." She got to her feet and motioned him to do the same.

"What?"

"Stand up!"

He did so, although he moved somewhat tentatively. She looked rather fierce, those brilliant blues eyes blazing, though he knew that this time she was happy, not angry.

She moved right up to him. "I'm going to kiss you, Mr. Carson, whether you want me to or not. Because I can't think of any other way to let you know, in this instant, how very much I love you!" Her voice broke a little as she said these final words. And she reached up with both hands to hold his face as she kissed him.

He did not resist. Instead, he put his arms around her, a gentle embrace offering her some support, but not crushing her against him.

It was a long minute before they relaxed and drew a little apart. She smiled up at him. The expression on his face was rapturous.

"Say it again," he said in a whisper, his deep dark eyes pooling with the currents of passion she had first seen there two nights ago. "Please."

She smiled at him.

"I love you," she said. "Charlie."

 **THE END**

 **AUTHOR'S NOTE: Writing** _ **Breaking With Tradition**_ **has been an exhilarating creative experience. Working with such strongly defined characters is necessarily an effort in collaboration. My favourites, Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes, were cooperative, and I hope I have captured the essence of their characters and of their relationship. Others were more resistant. Mary, whom I love and wanted to portray in the best light, insisted on being herself. Tom, to whom I am mostly indifferent, was determined to demonstrate the inequities of class and to show his tremendous compassion. And Edith, who I can't stand, made me appreciate her perspective and acknowledge her capacity for personal growth. I learned a lot from them and they helped to make this story what it is. Thank you to all reviewers. EC**

 **PS: The Granthams and, indeed, the whole household ought to have gone to church on Christmas morning. That they did not do so was the result of the pressures of chronology I imposed on the conveying of news about the engagement, rather than oversight or neglect.**


End file.
